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2016 ZOOMA Amelia Island half marathon race report

2016 ZOOMA Amelia Island half marathon race report

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Two weeks out from my target autumn marathon, I flew cross-country to meet-up with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law and run ZOOMA’s Amelia Island half marathon in AI, Florida. (The short version: it was great). If you’ve been reading here for a bit, you might recall that in 2014 and 2015, I was a social media ambassador for ZOOMA’s Napa Valley half marathon/race weekend. Unfortunately, ZOOMA nixed their Napa race, but due to me being a social media ambassador again for them this year (even though all their races were on the east coast), and the very cool fact that based on last year’s Napa ambassador gig, I won myself a race weekend, I got to run a ZOOMA race again this year. It was a pretty sweet deal, for which I’m grateful.

Before I get too far into my race recap, I’ll preface this by saying that generally speaking, I’m not really into all-women’s races (or rather, “races that are heavily marketed to women”). It’s not my thing. Aside from the now-defunct Napa race and the she.is.beautiful Santa Cruz race (the latter I do pushing my daughters), I don’t typically run women’s races. The short version: I take serious issue with the way race orgs. typically market their “women’s races” and the absolutely absurd (and ludicrous, if not also insulting and misogynist) bevy of assumptions they make about women runners. ZOOMA/s.i.b. fortunately don’t do the things that I find most infuriating about most other women’s races I’ve seen. What has kept me coming back to race a ZOOMA race, besides the obvious camaraderie element (and comped race) that I get from being a social media ambassador, has been its very supportive and empowering atmosphere; many runners at ZOOMA races are running their first endurance event ever, so it’s cool to be a part of that. Plus, ZOOMA treats its race as an actual race: a chance for you to perform at your very best. It’s not “dumbed-down” in the slightest, nor are there some naked-ish males waiting for me to come up to them for a photo opp, both which happen at other women’s races.There’s no bullshit. It’s running. It just happens to be with a bunch of other women.

Going into the race weekend, my plan was to use the race as part of what would be my final 20 mile LR. I planned to run 2 miles to the start, the 13.1 race, and 5 miles back to the hotel, which would basically be perfect because our hotel was situated more or less two miles from the start and then five miles from the finish at the Ritz. The weather on race morning was wonderful: a little cloudy and windy to start, maybe in the low 50s, and very little (if any) humidity – a far cry from the day before’s 80+ and super-humid temps. I didn’t want to all-out race the HM with my marathon being two weeks later, but I thought I could at least maaaaaybe go for a lot of GMP miles for the front half/half-ish and then cut it down on the back-end and go for a big negative split. That was the extent of my goal for the day. My time goals – things I am usually so hung up about – also basically didn’t extend much beyond “hopefully I can at least average GMP for the duration of the race.” I guess if your expectations aren’t too high then you won’t be too disappointed with the outcome, eh?

There were also monarchs everywhere (PC: my sis)
There were also monarchs everywhere (PC: my sis)

More than anything though, I wanted to have a good race, though “good” was admittedly a bit nebulous and flew in the face of everything I know about setting goals. I wasn’t interested in going for a PR attempt (remember, 26.2 is looming), but I still wanted to have a “good” half, one where more things went right than wrong for once, and one that I could finish knowing that I ran well within my means. My running has been solid lately and I’ve been feeling strong, but my stomach and all the ongoing GI nonsense I’ve been having throw a wild-card into the mix each day. Plus, realistically, and rather unfortunately, my HM track record from the past three years has been haphazard at best. There’s always been something with me and HMs: my stomach blowing up (Kaiser ’14; Jungle Run ’14); going out way too fast and just dying a slow, painful death (ZOOMA Napa ’14); or that the runs were either for fun/pacing/part of a longer training run that day for a marathon or an ultra/I’m pregnant/I’m freshly postpartum and give no fucks about how this will go (Nike Women’s SF ’14; RNR SJ ’14; Trail Hog 13+ ’14; Santa Cruz ’14; Western Pacific ’14; SLO ’15; Berkeley ’15).

Suffice it to say then that I hadn’t run a HM well in a while, so it made it a little challenging to know what to expect or anticipate at the line. Add to that drama the fact that a) I wanted to get in a “good” workout/solid LR two weeks out from 26.2 and b) I wanted to reaaaaaally focus on the pending 26.2 and not jeopardize myself at all by running irresponsibly in the HM, it basically seemed like I had this mental cacophony that was at odds with itself. Don’t waste this racing opportunity (supported LR!), but don’t go all out; this should be faster than your usual LR, but don’t finish feeling gassed; go in expecting nothing, but if you don’t achieve (_________), then it’ll be a huge let-down. Yeah. Lots of competing interests, to say the least. Surely I can’t be the only one out there who has this intricate of a monologue pre-race…

Come race morning, I took a gamble and didn’t pump before I ran – figuring I wouldn’t be gone too too long – dutifully ran over to the starting area, met a couple of the other social media ambassadors, introduced myself to Brae (the ED of the ZOOMA race series), threw my gear into the back of a jeep (easy gear check FTW) and basically toed the line. I managed to screw up my watch, so it didn’t kick in until I had been running for about 5-10 steps, and it took until about mile 8 for my GPS to align with the course markers – no big deal. I usually hug the tangents hard during races, so I figured it’d take a while for things to finally more-or-less match up. The first mile took us through quaint little Fernandina Beach’s downtown, before we picked up a side road that eventually led us into Fort Clinch State Park, where we spent a lot of our miles before picking up A1A, the road parallel to the beach, that would ultimately dump us at the Ritz and the finish line on the sand (!!!).

very near our hotel, right off A1A
very near our hotel, right off A1A

Fernandina Beach is part of Amelia Island, the latter being only two miles wide and thirteen miles long, so there’s really not a whole lot there. I think I read somewhere that it’s the geographical size of Manhattan but a whole lot less dense.Once we left the downtown area and the side street that adjoined to Fort Clinch, we had a beautiful tree canopy over us. There were little bike-path trails on either side of us, and the winding roads (along with a bicycle race taking place simultaneously as our footrace, though fortunately going in the opposite direction) made for some pretty and relaxing scenery. Going into Fort Clinch, I was third OA, having caught up to the third woman after mile 1, where we commiserated over the weirdness of the aid station being unattended and self-serve – fortunately, the only real hiccup of the day – and though I couldn’t see how far ahead first OA was (Jenn), I could see second ahead of me by less than a minute. We did a little out-and-back around mile 5 or 6 in Fort Clinch, which allowed me to see how far ahead the number 1 and 2 women were, and later allowed me to both be cheered by and to also cheer for all the other runners behind me. I kinda love OAB races for this reason. I will always cheer for other runners when I see them; it makes me really freakin’ happy.

This was from my run on Sunday on the island, though this wasn't in Fort Clinch. Add more tree canopy, and substitute pavement for that dirt road, and you'll get the idea of what it was like to run in FC.
This was from my run on Sunday on the island, though this wasn’t in Fort Clinch. Add more tree canopy, and substitute pavement for that dirt road, and you’ll get the idea of what it was like to run in FC.

I eventually got my mental competing interests to settle with running GMP for the first 7-8 miles and then going for a big negative split home; what those “negative split” paces would be would remain to be seen and would be determined entirely by feel. I’ve listened to a fair number of running podcasts lately, and I recalled listening to a few whose speakers basically harped on the messages of a) trusting your training when you’re in a race and are intentionally holding back early, in the plan to negative split and b) focusing your training on one goal/one goal race at a time. Admittedly, it was a bit challenging to feel like I was running along very comfortably and around 3/4th overall – like I should have been working harder and shouldn’t have been wasting what was essentially perfect race weather – but I constantly reminded myself that I needed to follow my plan for this half – something I apparently haven’t done/haven’t done well in quite some time – and that I had to keep my eye on the marathon prize in two weeks’ time. Again with the mental back-and-forths during a race…

Once we got out of Fort Clinch, right around mile 7.75, we passed our hotel, and just as she said she would, my sister was on the sidelines! My sister! I never get to see her (or really, anyone in my family) since we live so far away from each other, but she told me that she’d be standing outside cheering for me and would be ready to give me some “real water” if I wanted it. For as lovely as Fernandina Beach is, the island water is downright disgusting. The best way I can describe it is that it tasted how cigarette butts smell. (Fucking disgusting, right?!). Fortunately, the ZOOMA crew must have realized this as well, and the water and electrolytes on course were totally fine. I passed my sister shortly before mile 8, got a ton of feel-good vibes from her, turned onto A1A, parallel to the beach, and decided that it was time to finish executing on my plan and to go for a respectable negative split, whatever that was.

SISTER!!!!!
SISTER!!!!! (PC: my sister!). FC, where all the trees are, is there in the background.

When my sister wasn’t telling me she had “real water” for me, she yelled that I was third and that I should GO-GO-GO! to catch second. Right before or after mile 8, I had caught up to second, said some encouraging remarks (as is totally the norm at ZOOMA races I’ve run – everyone supports everyone else), and I was off. I’ve run many small races before where you’re essentially running blind if you’re in the front because you can’t see or hear anyone before or behind you, and it’s shitty. When I’ve been in those places before, I’ve constantly wanted to look behind me, but it’s obviously counterproductive and a waste of time. Just like in any other race or training run I’ve done, I had to tell myself to not worry about who was behind me or how far behind he/she was; I had to trust in my training, run my own race, and concentrate on the mile I was in.

Miles 8-13.1 went by in a blur. My family and I had driven/run A1A on Friday, so I was familiar with the road and the territory and knew what to expect (flat roads, beach houses, too many godforsaken Trump signs, a golf course). I concentrated on the road ahead of me and began to think that if the rest of the race ran as smoothly as it had been, that there was a good chance that I could end in about a 1:34 and change – what would be my second-fastest HM time and the fastest I’ve run one since leaving Chicago. I felt fantastic, and I reigned things in a little when I’d begin to see my current pace creeping into the 6:40s (again: marathon). I know it’s so unhelpful to compare races and training cycles, but I couldn’t help but laugh at how much better this race was going than the other times I had run a 1:33 or 1:35, wherein I started out like a bat out of hell and just faded. At ZOOMA, I felt like a million bucks during the final portion, and I couldn’t get over just how good I felt, given the distance I had already covered and the considerable uptick in pace. Miles 8-13.1 basically mirrored what I had been doing for my tempo runs – something in the 6:5x-7 flat range – though it was a lot easier to do that in the heat of a race than by myself in a workout. (Race day magic is real).

We HM runners eventually got onto the heels of the 12k runners and walkers, but it was basically without consequence; like I said, I love the encouraging atmosphere this race series provides, so I was all about the “good job!” and “yea girl!” and the like. When we made our final turn onto the Ritz-Carlton property, where the race ended, I began to mentally brace myself for the final .2 that’d be on the sand. I’ve run on sand exactly one other time in my life and swore I’d never do it again because it sucks. It was annoying and frustrating to be slowed down by the super-soft sand at the very, very end of a HM, but I get the novelty of it. Not far from the finish line, a boardwalk appeared, so we got a momentary reprieve and one last chance to pick up speed again. For as much as I mentally bitched about the sand, though, it sure made for a pretty and memorable finish line. Point taken, ZOOMA.

very near the finish. Notice the boardwalk. This must have been right when I was going around a 12k walker; otherwise, I'd sure as hell still be running on something that wasn't sand.
very near the finish. Notice the boardwalk. This must have been right when I was going around a 12k walker; otherwise, I’d sure as hell still be running on something that wasn’t sand.

 

who's happy to stop running in the sand? THIS GIRL!
who’s happy to stop running in the sand? THIS GIRL!

I was thrilled and so happy to finish how I did – second overall, 1:35:09, my fastest HM in a while and second-fastest ever, and perfectly executed my GMP-then-negative-split-plan – but more than anything, it was honestly such a huge mental relief to a) not have a GI catastrophe ruin the run and b) have a bit of a confidence boost two weeks before my marathon.

obligatory
obligatory

I’m almost 15 months out from having my baby, and while my postpartum running has been fairly smooth, it’s still pretty challenging for me to know what I can do or the paces I can expect on any given day. Now that I say that out loud, that’s probably true for everyone though; we often don’t know what we can do until we just show up and try. This distance stuff is just really unpredictable, which is what makes it so frustrating but also so enticing. So many times, you just have to deal with what the day brings. You can’t change the course; you can’t change the weather; you can’t change if your stomach is going into meltdown mode or if your legs are suddenly leaden; but you can change your perspective and outlook. I went into this race expecting virtually nothing, and while that may not be the best way to approach things, it was also something of a relief to get outside my own head for a while – to get outside the confines of a hard-and-fast time goal for a race – and to just run more or less on feel. Deep stuff, guys, I tell ya what.

After the race, my sister drove down to the Ritz, so we hung out, had some wine samples, jammed to the very awesome cover band, and I eventually got a massage and some chiropractic stuff done on my TFL. The very-sweet first place finisher Jenn, my sister, and I chatted for a while before the awards ceremony before heading back to our hotels.

with the winner, Jenn. She rocked!
with the winner, Jenn. She rocked! (PC: sister)

I never finished those final 5 miles that’d get me to 20 for the day, but I didn’t mind. I chased the morning’s race with more quality time with my mom, sis, and SIL at the beach, where we took fantastic glamour shots, and felt such a deep gratitude that I kinda can’t explain it well without sounding ridiculous. Running can break our heart, no doubt, but god can it ever make us feel so fucking amazing, too. Add a satisfying race to the already lovely weekend that I got to spend with people I rarely see but care so much about, and my heart was pretty full (and my legs felt pretty fantastic).

pretty good considering there's a big height discrepancy amongst us
pretty good considering there’s a considerable height discrepancy amongst us

 

makes my soul sing
aside from the slight time discrepancy (remember the watch issues), you'll get the general idea for how things shook out.
aside from the slight time discrepancy (remember the watch issues), you’ll get the general idea for how things shook out.

Next stop: 26.2 on 11/6!

postpartum running: 13 months out

postpartum running: 13 months out

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I’ve had this draft saved on my computer for well over a month now, and I keep coming back to it, editing and revising it, deciding that I don’t like what I originally said or that it wouldn’t necessarily be helpful to anyone. I guess you could say that I more or less had this “grand master plan” of what my “postpartum running from the one-year-out mark” post would look like, and it wasn’t until (and unless!) my thoughts on the screen mirrored those in my head that I’d be sufficiently content to hit publish.

…and in the “yet again, the universe always makes sense” department, I realized that it’s kinda that image, that picture of me having an idea in my head for how I want something to look, working on it, feeling like I am coming up short compared to my lofty standards, and eventually saying eh fuck it this is probably good enough I’m probably overthinking this and letting go (hitting publish) – that picture, that process, that’s really one as good as any to adequately (appropriately, accurately, pick your starts-with-a-adverb here) to describe postpartum running (round 2) from the one-year mark.

The cliché of how quickly time passes, especially when you have a little one, is a tired cliché for a reason: it’s true. “The days are long but the years are short” – or whatever – but there’s this weird Twilight Zone, time-warp thing that has made this past year both feel like it has flown by and that it hasn’t. Most pertinent to this blog, though, as soon as G showed up a year ago (or 13 months ago, anyway), there began the newest chapter in my “pregnant running” to “postpartum running” story.

3 days old
3 days old. and yeah, after you have a baby, you still look pregnant for a while. totally normal. sweet umbilical hernia I got there, eh?

 

13 mos. old. Slight difference.
aaaaaaaand 13 mos. old. Slight difference.

Pregnancies are known for being wildly different, even when we’re talking about the same woman, and I’d venture to say that postpartum stuff can vary tremendously as well. With my first, I didn’t begin running again until six weeks postpartum, and this was after taking the final six weeks of my ~41 week pregnancy off from running because I had developed some killer lower SI pain that was only going to go away once I had the baby. That postpartum journey with A was good and fortunately without any sort of injury or setback. I had her in the spring of 2011; a year later, almost to the day, I knocked about four minutes off my three-year-old marathon PR, and for those first 18 months (or so) postpartum, I set and re-set PRs in nearly every distance I raced, ultimately bringing my marathon PR down from a 3:37 (2008) to a 3:34 (spring ’12), 3:31 (winter ’13), a high 3:20 (spring ’13), and my current PR, a low 3:20 (autumn ’13, when A was just shy of 2.5 years old). I changed literally everything about how I trained from prepartum to postpartum and was lucky (smart) enough to remain injury-free. Sometimes women can suffer from a bunch of different postpartum-related complications as their bodies get used to not being pregnant anymore, and I luckily didn’t have any of those problems the first time around.

Postpartum running the second time around has been pretty similar in some respects. For starters, I ran longer during my second pregnancy, with my last run about 10 hours before I gave birth, and my midwives cleared me for “activity” sooner, at three weeks postpartum – not at all at my begging insistence, more along the lines of them mentioning to me “oh yea, you’re looking good, go do whatever you want.” Well then … I didn’t have the shitty, ohmygodmyuterusisgoingtofallout feeling I had in my initial postpartum runs like I had before, and generally speaking, I felt great the second time around pretty much from the start. Of course, stupid things came up the second time around that interrupted my running – a double-hernia repair at about a month postpartum and then at about three months postpartum, another outpatient surgery to fetch a runaway IUD that had perforated my uterus and had set up shop elsewhere in my right quadrant (oh, and an unplanned appendectomy, too … BOGO, I guess?), and this pesky GI stuff that I’ve been dealing with actually since before my first born – but all told, postpartum running part deux has been fairly smooth sailing, in terms of the actual physical side of things. Just like the first time around, I fortunately and very luckily haven’t had to deal with post-pregnancy complications (such as DR or uterine prolapse).

thank god I gave birth about 12 hours later. this was my last pic I sent to my also-pregnant-at-the-time sister, basically saying that I had no idea where else this baby was going to grow because I was plum outta room.
praise the lord I gave birth about 12 hours later, at 38w1d. this was my last pic I sent to my also-pregnant-at-the-time sister, basically saying that I had no idea where else this baby was going to grow because I was plum outta room.

 

When I began running postpartum, I didn’t really start with any hard-and-fast running goals, in terms of weekly volume or speed or anything like that, because I obviously needed to figure out how to be a mom to two kids for the first time in my life. It’s no small order, even if you’re “just” a SAHM. I think this feeling of somewhat detaching from my running – that is, being satisfied with being able to run, even if it’s not necessarily what I “wanted” to or “needed” to do that day – has been key to my first year of postpartum running this time around. I can care, but I can also not. Go have expectations, but also don’t. Make some goals, but don’t really worry about them too much. It’s been strangely liberating and empowering.

first time on AR trails after giving birth - 11 miles, 2,400+ gain, and pretty much had my ass handed to me. It was so good.
first time on AR trails after giving birth – 11 miles, 2,400+ gain, and pretty much had my ass handed to me. I didn’t know what distance I’d be able to post that day, much less how I’d fare climbing, but I showed up, and therein was the victory, my friends.  PC- Saurabh

 

Along those same lines, probably one of the biggest lessons that postpartum running part deux has taught me has been to just go with things more often. Cue your inner Elsa, and don’t be afraid to let that shit go sometimes. When you’re figuring out life with little ones at home, you will likely eventually learn that your days and nights don’t always go as you envision. Some drawn-from-real-life examples:

That 5-mile stroller run becomes 1 or 2 because the baby is incredibly fussy, and/or you have to go get your other kid from school because she’s fallen ill.

That predawn run, where you get up at 4 to pump (yup) so you can be ready to run by 5 (yup, there goes an hour), doesn’t happen because the baby literally wakes up as you’re heading out the door.

The long trail run with your friends might not happen because you’ve gotten shit for sleep the past few nights because (insert reason here, probably something related to the baby), and at the end of the day, running for a few hours, while awesome, will not incur the same benefits to you, at this moment in your life, as sleeping for a few more (likely interrupted) hours.

And so on.

With all of these, hmm, let’s call them “life circumstances,” you can choose to just let them go and move on, hoping that tomorrow (or whenever your next opportunity to run comes) will go a little more according to what you envisioned, or you can sulk about things not going your way. It’s admittedly sometimes hard to just let it go – we runners are goal-driven, come hell or high water, for a reason – but it’s been in doing that for the past year that I think I’ve felt my best, both mentally and physically, with my running. I care so much and am so eager to improve, but I’m also very content. So weird. My words are failing me.

When you’re a runner, and probably a bit of a Type A, becoming ok with doing less than you envisioned can be a lot easier said than done. It’s so satisfying to check-off boxes each day, log lots of miles, and watch the numbers rack up week after week. My experiences this past year have taught me that if you’re parenting little ones (and still wearing all the other hats that life gives you), sometimes something’s gotta give – especially if you’re finding that you’re feeling mentally or physically burnt-out or just tired as hell. Running is supposed to be fun. It’s not supposed to be another life stressor. Like I said before, if I can run for an hour or sleep for an hour, and I got shit for sleep the night before, I’m at a place in my life where I will enthusiastically sleep for another hour and not feel bad about it. At earlier stages in my life, I would be riddled with guilt over my irresponsibility. No more. I so do not believe in training at all costs. I don’t know that I’ve ever bought into that mentality – all those ideas that the ridiculous fitspo memes unfortunately perpetuate – but after having my second kid, I’m more of a non-believer than ever. I’m human. I’m cool with that. Sometimes, a lot of times, I fall short. I miss miles. I skip workouts if I think it’s the right call or, hell, if I feel like I need to be lazy one weekend morning (looking at you, Saturday’s workout). It’s all good. I’m alright with it, more now than I have ever been. I want to check-off all those boxes as much as the next runner, but if I can’t (or choose not to), no big deal. Life goes on. It’s not going to break my training/race.

 

course monitoring like a champ
trading in a morning run to volunteer with my team at a major race in my city? no brainer. didn’t feel guilty for it. [~2.5 m/o G]

Looking back at the past year, when I ran the Berkeley half marathon at about three and a half months postpartum, I told myself that if I did it and felt pretty good in the thick of it, that I’d consider a spring marathon. It went better than I anticipated it would, so I figured that a spring 26.2 would be fun. Running while pregnant (both times) allowed me to re-harness my love of running just for the sake of running, but now that I wasn’t growing anyone, I wanted to return to the structure that marathon training dictates – while still being comfortable letting plans fly to the wayside if I needed to. It’s a bit of a juxtaposition – wanting to train for a marathon because I like and thrive on the structure but remaining willing to tell said structure to eff off from time to time – but it worked for me.

cheesin' at Berkeley
mid-run cheese

 

In my first marathon postpartum, at 7 months, I virtually tied my PR with a high 3:20 (fifty seconds slower than my PR, and on a pretty warm day), and not long later, I comfortably helped pace a woman to her first marathon finish and BQ at a 3:30. I could have been pissed about coming this close but still falling short of my PR attempt at Modesto, but honestly, I wasn’t. I ran a time at 7 mos PP that it took me 2.5 years to reach after having my first; c’mon. Of course I was going to be happy with that. About 9 weeks later, when I ran another marathon as a comfortable LR and helped pace a woman to her first marathon finish (natch) and BQ (3:30, baller), when I was beginning to feel kinda mentally burnt-out, I was again thrilled with how my running was shaping up so soon, relatively speaking, after G. I couldn’t have run that pace a year after having A, and I did it less than a year after having G and while still also BFing exclusively. Why wouldn’t I be happy with that?!

Modesto '16 - juuuuuust outside my PR and having an effing ball
Modesto ’16 – juuuuuust outside my PR and having an effing ball

 

but really, if you can't take two seconds to look like an idiot for a camera mid-marathon, why bother. (PEM '16)
but really, if you can’t take two seconds to look like an idiot for a camera mid-marathon, why bother. (PEM ’16)

With all of this, I’m not insinuating that I’m any better a runner than I am; instead, I’m sharing my experiences because I’m trying to harp on the importance of having some perspective in your postpartum running. It’s up to you whether you find value and worth in comparing your postpartum performances to your ones pre-baby, but if you do, please please please remember how much your life and body have both changed so profoundly and dramatically in the process. Becoming a mom isn’t a handicapping attribute to sport, despite what you might have gleaned from Olympics commentators, yet at the same time, it’s unrealistic to think that becoming a mom doesn’t change your running (or your body) in some long-lasting ways. Having two kids now hasn’t written off my will to compete (with myself or with others); if anything, being able to nearly-PR my marathon 7 months out makes me really excited to continue on this road (or trail, sure) and see where it ultimately leads. I have goals and ideas and dreams and aspirations, but like I’ve explained, it’s all day-by-day. I’m along for the ride as much as anyone.

speaking of ride... (10 mo. G)
speaking of ride… (10 mo. G)
winning the 5k baby mama division (while pregnant) in 2015 at she.is.beautiful - Santa Cruz
more rides … winning the 5k baby mama division (while pregnant) in 2015 at she.is.beautiful – Santa Cruz – while pushing A

 

winning the baby mama 10k at she.is.beautiful with G (just shy of 8 mos.) and winning another running stroller - so fun
and more rides still: a year later, winning the baby mama 10k at she.is.beautiful SC while pushing baby G (just shy of 8 mos.) and winning another running stroller – so fun. If you are local, put s.i.b. on your calendar.

 

With all of this in mind, then, if you’re reading this and you’re postpartum, I think the biggest takeaway I can give to you (and to myself) related to postpartum running is to just relax.

You’ll develop your speed again (and at least anecdotally, from virtually any mother I’ve talked to who ran pre-pregnancy and has continued to run postpartum, you’ll probably get faster. Chalk it up to using your running time more wisely, I guess?).

You’ll develop your strength again (and here, you’ll probably be able to throw down more. Hauling around children does wonders for your strength, if not also leaving you a little creaky from time to time).

You’ll develop your training volume again (if you want to. Your world is different now. You might want to, or you might not. Different strokes).

I don’t think there’s any real value in giving yourself a deadline of when you want things to happen. Put in the effort, be ready and willing to work when your body is capable of handling it, and just let things unfold. Don’t think that just because X hasn’t happened by your arbitrary date that you’re somehow incapable of realizing the goal. This shit takes time – all good things do, right? – and again, with postpartum running, you’re figuring out how to “do” your life again. It’s tough. It’s incredibly rewarding, but it’s tough. I don’t know when you can say that you’ve figured it all out because if babies/kids are good at anything, they’re pros at disrupting schedules juuuuuuuuust when you think you’ve got everything figured out – they change so much and so quickly – but hey, parenting, running – take it in stride, ya know? Literally and metaphorically. Step at a time, mis amigas.

even a rocky step is a step. (at the peak of mission peak - Sept '16)
even a rocky step forward is a step forward. (ridiculous and awkward selfie at the very foggy peak of mission peak; you’re welcome – Aug ’16)

 

I implore you – just be patient. Chances are, you’re doing a better job than you realize. If today is rough, it doesn’t promise that tomorrow will be, too. One bad run doesn’t mean that the entire week will be garbage. Every day is an opportunity – as after-school-special cheesy as that sounds – and you’ll figure it all out. You’ll be fine.

You’re doing great.