One Year of Nursing

Almost exactly a year ago, I was returning to running after having a baby. My body felt stiff and foreign, but more than anything else, my boobs hurt. Last week, I found myself in a similar spot: my body stiff from a marathon and time off, with my boobs crying the loudest. This time around, instead of my body learning how to run and feed Baby, it was learning how to cope as I stopped feeding Baby.

When I had Baby, I set a goal of breastfeeding her for one year. I wasn’t sure that would be possible, especially in the early days, and I didn’t know what to expect as I added running and racing to the mix. Below is a summary of how that year went for me, but I’m curious to hear how other mamas dealt, so feel free to share your experience in the comments! (Also please know that I am a stay-at-home mom who works from home part time. I’m sure I would have stopped nursing earlier if I had to pump at work and am uber-impressed with all you Mamas who deal with that!)

But before I get into everything about nursing, let me start by saying more generally to Mamas everywhere: cut yourself some slack and be happy with whatever path you’ve chosen, not just regarding breastfeeding, but running too. I know Moms who are crushing marathons/Boston qualifiers/Trials standards who didn’t run much when their babies were small, and Moms crushing it with babies in diapers. If racing and trying to run fast makes you feel more overwhelmed, by all means take it easy. If it makes you feel more like yourself and gives you a break, then go for it. Don’t let other people and the path they take make you feel any less proud of your own. 

And in that vein, don’t feel pressure to breastfeed if it’s not for you. Don’t feel pressure to run while breastfeeding if it’s not for you. For whatever (often unknown) reason, some babies are super demanding and fussy, some boobs struggle to produce enough, some bodies are injury prone. Do what you can but don’t drive yourself crazy forcing anything, breastfeeding-wise or running-wise. If you do choose to breastfeed and run, know that the combination puts a lot of demands on your body. Take care of you and your baby first; running takes a backseat.

The first few days of Baby:

Breastfeeding-wise, these days were a nightmare. I dreaded having to feed my daughter and the lactation consultants at the hospital made me feel worse, not better. But the more sympathetic nurses helped by recognizing how hard it was, reminding me I was doing a good job just for trying, and not judging if I wanted to stop. For the first week or two I opted to rotate between pumping* and breastfeeding; pumping was less painful and gave my boobs a bit of a break from Baby, who was also struggling to figure out how the heck to do this. (This has nothing to do with running, but it’s a reminder to not feel bad if it’s a struggle; it is for nearly everyone! Also: try not to think about how long you want to keep it up, just take it one day at a time.)

*To feed a newborn pumped milk, you may need to syringe feed her, which a lactation consultant can give you the supplies for. No one mentions this beforehand, but it is totally an option.

The undisputed best part of nursing is the closeness.
Now I just have to settle for these incredibly rare moments. 

The first few months:

When I started running again, I quickly learned to splurge for better sports bras (i.e. not the Target ones I’ve had for five years). I was also careful to time my runs around Baby’s feeding schedule: I would nurse her right before I left and be home before she needed more. At that point she was going about two hours between feedings and I was not running anywhere near that long, so it wasn’t an issue so long as I planned it out.

Starting to train again, 4-9 months postpartum:

I started pumping in the morning before my run, so she’d have milk when she woke up (and I could get out the door earlier to fit in more miles). Pumping also enabled me to totally relieve myself; Baby had a tendency to only drink from one side first thing in the morning, leaving me uncomfortably lopsided. If I noticed I pumped a little less one morning, I would be sure to eat more that day, but it was never really an issue. I also periodically checked I was still producing enough by self expressing a tiny bit after Baby finished nursing, reassuring myself there was more there if she had wanted it. (This was really just to ease my always-worried mind: Baby was a healthy weight and seemed happy and satisfied.) At six months, we introduced solid foods (and by “solid” I mean pureed mush) so even though I was still nursing she was no longer relying on me 100 percent.

The biggest breastfeeding-related issue I faced was that my diastasis recti wouldn’t heal until I stopped nursing. While nursing, your body produces hormones, like relaxin, that keep ligaments loose, making it hard for the abdominal muscles to come back together properly. This meant I had to be a little more cautious about my running and I couldn’t do all the strength and supplemental work I’d normally do, but it also served as a reminder that (a) for me, nursing my daughter was more important than running, and (b) some things just take time and I can’t force anything. The only other issue I had was that I was thirstier on runs, but that was an easy fix: I just carried a bottle more often.

I purposely choose a logistically easy marathon for my first (the Richmond Marathon, where I live), so I could pump before I left the house, have a short drive to the start, and then pretty easily find my family after. I ended up not nursing Baby until we were back at home, which was longer than I had planned but Baby and I were both fine. (She had a bottle and a snack while I was running.) Of course, major marathons—and all the waiting around at the start—would make this more complicated), so that’s something to keep in mind when racing and nursing (although Boston does allow you to have a pump at the start).

Transitioning to solid food... and the inevitable mess.

Training for an OTQ, 10-14 months postpartum:

Breastfeeding for a year would have meant stopping in mid-March. I went in to the spring season with a flexible attitude: if breastfeeding seemed not to be causing any issues, maybe I’d keep going through the marathon and not have to worry about how my body might react to weaning.

And that’s what happened: in the buildup to Pittsburgh, I honestly didn’t really feel affected by breastfeeding. My abs started to close (probably because Baby was getting more calories from solid foods) and I started to hit times and mileage that were in the realm of pre-Baby. I wasn’t sure whether weaning would throw my body for a loop: would the drop in hormones make me crazy cranky, gain a bunch of weight, or feel totally off? Things seemed to be going pretty well, so rather than fix something that wasn’t broken, I decided to keep breastfeeding through race day. (Although I did start to slowly cut back starting around her first birthday; by the time of the marathon I was down to two sessions: pumping before a morning run and nursing her at bedtime. I noticed I was pumping less as I cut out the other sessions, but she still had plenty.)  

The final days:

A day after Pittsburgh I cut out the morning pumping session with no obvious effects. Two weeks later I stopped nursing at bedtime. And 36 hours after that, I was so glad I had waited until the marathon was over. I was a mess. Baby was cranky from a cold, but I seemed particularly drained dealing with her crankiness. (The week I cut from three sessions to two was also a rough one. Again, I’m not sure if Baby was just being particularly difficult, but I felt crankier and more overwhelmed than usual.)

But more than my moodiness was something I hadn’t considered: my boobs were incredibly painful. I hadn’t really had any issue weaning to that point—maybe I felt a little full but nothing too bad—and I had clearly been producing less so I naively thought it would just taper off and that would be that. Not so. From about 36 hours to 4-5 days after I stopped I was painfully full; my chest was so sore I couldn’t lift my arms above my head and when I’d pick up Baby, she’d hug me and leave me wincing. (It’s a sad day when your baby’s hugs hurt!) This corresponded to when I started running again and I was happy to only go a few short miles, because while the post-marathon tightness eased after a mile or two, the boob pain did not. I’m glad I wasn’t trying to train hard or race during this period. (Not that it would have been impossible, but very uncomfortable. I’d recommend timing weaning for a down week if you can.)

So in the end, I’m happy with how I timed everything: I was able to run two marathons while breastfeeding and hit a big time goal in the latter. My paranoia about the added injury risk (the hormones that kept my abs apart can also cause joint trouble) made me more cautious then I have been in the past, making me take a few days off here and there, especially in the lead up to Richmond. But before Pittsburgh, I felt healthier than ever. (Even before CIM, where I set my current PR, I was dealing with a cranky butt muscle.) I can’t attribute it to breastfeeding exactly, but I do think that taking care of Baby and having her rely on me made me take care of myself better. I was more conscious about eating well, I took a prenatal vitamin daily (it’s recommended to continue those while nursing), and I was extra diligent about sleep, given everything that I was asking of my body.

Some say breastfeeding slows you down; maybe I would have run faster this spring if I had stopped earlier, but I’ll never know, nor do I really care. (I'm obviously not complaining about how the season turned out!)  I’m just glad to have hit another goal, one that seemed incredibly ambitious in the early days.

Dream big, 

Teal 

Race Report: 2018 Cherry Blossom

Photo Credit: RunWashington

Three weeks ago, while I was wallowing in my disappointing workout, I got an email from the Cherry Blossom Ten Mile race saying I qualified for the elite women’s start, which would take off 12 minutes before the men and the rest of the field. The email—which I almost deleted without reading it, whoops—immediately lifted my spirits. It was an opportunity to be treated like a star, and even though I would get my butt kicked by the actual stars I knew I wanted to do it.

But I wasn’t sure if it was a bad idea; I’d likely be dropped in the first ten meters, was it worth being stuck in no woman’s land for 10 miles just to feel special? So I asked Friend of the Blog/Neon Angel Kerry, who’s run it a couple of times, if it was dumb to start with the elites, only to feel elite, when I was surely going to be dropped immediately. But she assured me that was exactly why you do it, that we deserve the special opportunity, and if I was in sub-60 shape I should go for it.

Breaking 60 minutes was my goal, but I hadn’t yet said it out loud and as I typed it back to Kerry, it became real: Oh, geez you really think you can break 60? That’s crazy.

At the beginning of the season, I thought this was one of the races I could go for a PR, but that seemed less and less likely lately. I figured a 10K PR was much more in reach, as my 10K PR (37:08, or 5:58 pace, from the first part of a half marathon) is actually a slower pace than my 10 mile PR (59:24, or 5:56 pace). (Which is why I remain super bummed to skip the opportunity to race a 10K.)

In the week before the race, I tried to wrap my mind around why, even if a 10 mile PR was a bit ambitious, sub-60 wasn’t totally crazy. I wrote down my rationale: I ran sub-60 pace at Cherry Blossom in 2015 and I’ve run some* faster workouts and a faster half marathon this season. (*It’s never ALL. Some workouts are faster, some are slower, and a lot comes down to which you focus on. I actively try to focus on the faster/glass half full ones.) As my confidence grew, the possibility snuck in of maybe—on a perfect day, if I feel unexpectedly amazing—maybe, just maybe going for a PR.

And I let the deadline for opting out of the elite start quietly pass.

Race morning was cold and there were about 40 other women freezing their buns off in the advanced start, all of whom looked intimidating. But I talked to one who had a similar goal—start at 6:00 pace—so that made me feel a bit better. I wouldn’t be totally alone from the gun.

Within the first quarter mile, two packs formed: the lead pack, trailing the press truck and motorcycles, and a “chase pack” of five or six women, including myself. I laughed to myself when my internal monologue called us a chase pack, as if the race was televised and the commentators had any reason to refer to us. Which of course they wouldn’t have, because we weren’t so much chasing the leaders as a self-selected group of women who clearly all had the nice round goal of 60 minutes on our minds. I was psyched that, not only was I not alone, there were a couple of women with the same idea. At a turn around near mile 2, we broke up a bit, but I stuck by Rochelle Basil, who had seemed to be in control of our little pack. 

At three miles we were exactly on 60-minute pace, but I fell back a little from Rochelle. I didn’t want to lose contact too soon as I worried that might lead to me giving up a bit and falling off the pace, so I was glad when I was able to reel her back in. As I pulled back alongside her, I began to feel better and around mile 5 ended up passing her.

Photo Credit: RunWashington

As we ran back down Independence, the sun was in my eyes and I could barely see in front of me, but as we turned to head south along the Tidal Basin I finally spotted another ponytail ahead. She was far off but I sensed I could catch her so I focused on her and just kept churning. I was feeling good and the next few miles were sub-six minutes. Maybe I could PR after all?! Around the 10K, I thought, Hmm maybe this is where I get my 10K PR… and I may have sped up a hair for a few strides to hit the 10K timing mat three seconds faster than my old PR.

Mile 7 was a 5:48 and I was flying high. I am going to PR! I suspected I might be running fast because the wind was at our backs, and things might drastically change when we rounded the tip of Hains Point and started heading north, but I was actively repelling all negativity so I didn’t dwell on it. Instead I focused on how good I felt and how much I was surprising myself. I’m in better shape than I thought!

Somewhere in this stretch I caught the woman ahead of me and started focusing on the next one, which was Susanna Sullivan, one of the top runners in the region. Could I catch Susanna Sullivan?! She must be coming back from something. (I later read that link and yes, she is.) I couldn’t really believe I was just behind her, but she was the next ponytail so catching her was my new focus.

As we rounded the turn at the bottom of Hains Point, reality set in a bit. The wind was in our faces, but I was willing myself to stay positive. By mile 8, I had averaged 5:56 pace and I just needed to keep that up for two more miles to PR. I had figured any chance of a PR would mean wildly picking it up at the end, but I didn’t need to do anything too crazy, just maintain. I kept my sights on Sullivan.

But my ninth mile was 6:01. Just like last time, I was unraveling a bit and it was clear the wind had been helping and was now actively hurting. Okay, well now I do need to kick it in a little harder. One more mile, pick it up. But I couldn’t, or I wasn’t anyway. There were signs for 1200 meters to go, (C’mon, GO!), 800 meters (GO GO GO!), and, while I felt like my effort was increasing, I wasn’t sure I was going any faster. I seemed to have nothing. The men had started passing me around mile 9 and they were flying by. Beforehand, I had wondered what effect that would have: if getting passed by someone at essentially an all-out sprint would (a) encourage me to pick it up or (b) crush my spirits, but it was actually (c) no effect whatsoever. The finish line being so close also had no effect. The last mile, often my fastest, was the slowest of the day.

So I did not PR. I lost it in those last two miles and finished ten seconds over. It was incredibly frustrating because I came so close and I really thought I had it. I keep missing my big goals by a hair (sub-2:50 in November’s marathon by 20 seconds, sub-1:20 in March’s half by 27 seconds) and I absolutely cannot miss my next big goal by a hair: ten seconds, twenty seconds, whatever. But on the other hand, only in my really optimistic moments did I think a PR was possible at this race. My PR came from the spring of 2015, when I felt fit and fast, fresh off qualifying for 2016 Trials, and with the added motivation to beat my brother. This time I surprised myself a bit, especially with how good I felt in the middle miles while knocking off sub-6 minute miles. (Yea, the wind may have helped, but shhh!)

Even though I was alone for the second half of the race, I have zero regrets about doing the advanced start. Being in the elite start reminded me that I really want to be in more elite starts, to deserve to be there, and to be mixing it up more with the top locals and top Americans. I want to be able to hang with the Susanna Sullivans and not just when they are coming back from something.

I needed that reminder, because it's time for me to stop making excuses or doubting myself because I’m coming back from something, namely having a Baby. A month or so ago, Husband asked if I was still using Baby as an excuse. He was just curious: did I feel like I still was being held back a bit/recovering from pregnancy? I said no. That was my excuse last season, but this season I'm back to running times and doing workouts that are pretty close to my old self, even my old self at her best. And I’m sick of putting an asterisk on things, “This is the best I’ve run since Baby.” (Please note: every woman is going to have a different timeline and road back, this is just my own personal experience and I realize I’m lucky to be where I’m at. But every woman should feel totally comfortable with taking it at whatever pace she wants or needs to!)

But… sometimes I do doubt myself and think, Well, I just had a Baby, I don’t deserve to start with the elites/there’s no way I can run that fast/a PR is out of the question. During the race, I was thrilled at the idea of PRing because that would prove (to myself more than anyone) that I am faster than ever, not just the fastest I’ve been postpartum. Well... not quite yet.

Although I did technically get that 10K PR, so at least there's that.

Dream big,
Teal

One Year of Baby

This week Baby turns one year old. Looking back at the last year, the number one thing I wish I knew—or rather wish I believed when people told me—is that it gets easier. Eventually, Baby started to sleep, stopped needing to eat seemingly every five minutes, and stopped crying all the time (mostly) and the effect of a little sleep for Husband and me and a little more time between nursing/pumping/washing bottles (so many bottles!) made everything better. The hormones finally settled, the fog lifted, the totally overwhelmed feeling shifted to a lesser, just constant hum of overwhelming-ness that I can (mostly) ignore.

One helpful piece of advice came from a prenatal class about breastfeeding. The teacher warned that nursing would be really hard at first and not to think about how long you hoped to do it for; don’t think about six months or a year or even a few weeks. Just take it one day at a time. I hated breastfeeding so much at first that almost as soon as I was done one feeding I was already dreading the next. So I tried my best not to think about how long I wanted to keep it up. And soon enough it got easier.

I think that’s good advice for all overwhelming things baby/running related. Don’t think about how long it takes to get back or how far you are now from where you were. Just take it one (sleepless) day at a time. And one day you’ll look up and realize it’s been a whole year and it’s not nearly as difficult and exhausting as it used to be.

So yes, babies get easier. So does running. Below are a few more things (besides the art of diapering, the words to every Sandra Boynton book, and that children’s songs are malicious ear worms on long runs) I’ve learned in the last year. (Or am still learning…)

1. It may take longer than you’d like, but your core/strength/speed will come back.

One of my most tangible issues postpartum (besides exhaustion and feeling like the Tin Man running) was diastasis recti, separation of the abdominal muscles. I spent months going to the PT, often feeling like it might be a waste of time and money. In early fall, I was wearing an ab splint 24/7 and hating every uncomfortable moment and doing an hour and a half of exercises each day to fix it (in three sets of 30 minutes, all while Baby was sleeping, when I wished desperately to be doing a million other things). When my PT told me it was essentially hopeless for a few more months (because of hormones from nursing), I had a bit of a meltdown. My abs wouldn’t be back to normal as soon as I’d like, no matter what I did, so I just had to be patient. To save my sanity, I cut myself some slack and stopped wearing the splint and doing most of the exercises.

Instead, I spent my time and energy focused on other issues, like tightness in my hips and pelvis. Finally, in January, my abs had made some progress, I was able to resume doing my old core workouts, and a few weeks ago I had my last appointment with my PT.

When I was two months postpartum, a friend of mine told me she didn’t regain core strength until eight months after her c-section and I thought: Eight months? OMG, that’s an eternity! Well, it turned out ten months was about what it took for me. (It was around the same time that workouts also started to click and I began to get glimpses of my old self.) Know that even though it may seem like an impossibly long time to wait, your strength/speed/etc. will come back someday. Patience is key for all things postpartum. Do what you can, but don’t drive yourself crazy forcing anything.

2. Relax about the weight stuff.

My weight is now close to where it was when I was in peak shape. Running helps of course, as does nursing, but so does relaxing about it and just letting your body find it’s new groove. This season, knowing I’m still helping feed a growing baby AND training for an Olympic Trials qualifying attempt, I’m eating more than ever. I’m focusing on trying to eat plenty of really nutritious (and delicious) things (thank you, Run Fast, Eat Slow!) and keeping Baby and I healthy and strong. As a result (or maybe because of time passing; there’s that patience thing again...), my weight is now getting back to my old normal. But really, that number doesn’t matter. My weight may be back in a similar range, but I feel different; stronger here or there perhaps, or maybe just shaped a little different. My body will never look exactly like it did before because, DUH, it grew a human in it for nine months. And that’s totally fine. In fact, it’s pretty flipping amazing.

3. Your body is flipping amazing (and it just may surprise you).

There were (are) many days when the road back seemed (seems) impossibly long, but there are also days I surprise myself. There’s evidence of at least one postpartum advantage: a boost in oxygen-carrying red blood cells, the same sort of effect people try to get by doping. Supposedly this boost only lasts about four months, so by the time I was back to real training it was long gone. But there were days where I would surprise myself; I’d run a pace that seemed unimaginable only a few weeks earlier, a long run would feel effortless, I’d catch a glimpse of something like the old Teal. Even now, when a workout goes well I wonder if there’s some special new mom juice still coursing through me. Because as much as I dream big and expect a lot of myself, I also have moments of sitting back and thinking: Geez, it’s really incredible I’ve even gotten this far. I truly believe God gives us more potential than any of us know and over the last year I’ve been reminded of that. Our bodies are pretty flipping amazing. They make babies, they run marathons, they bounce back from injury, inactivity, illness. Sometimes in the middle of the struggle it can be hard to see, but every once in a while you may catch a glimpse and see how your amazing body is working for you and getting better/stronger/faster.

4. You’re still you.

I’m a mom now, and that is undeniably life changing. But I’m also still a runner, with big dreams. When you become a parent I think it’s easy to assume you have to give up some part of yourself (your body/your sleep/your mind to a whole new set of worries) but you are also still the same person when that sleepless fog lifts, with the same strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams. I can once again run far, I still struggle with speed, and I still get immense joy out of pushing myself. No matter how much my love for my daughter grows (and it does, every day, in an incomprehensible incredibly overwhelming way that is also impossible to fathom even though people try to tell you), I still have room to love running.

5. Quit comparing.

Don’t compare your postpartum journey to others. You may come back faster or slower; maybe your abs will cooperate, but maybe some other issue will come up. There are plenty of women who are doing things quicker than I did/am, and others more slowly, but there’s no sense comparing. It’s hard to resist—and social media doesn’t always help—but remember that everyone’s situation/pregnancy/body/babies are different. Focus on taking care of yourself, taking it one day at a time, and trusting that it will get easier.

I promise, it does.

Dream big,

Teal

Race Report: Richmond Marathon

2:50 is my white whale. I have felt like a runner capable of a sub-2:50 marathon since 2012. From 2012 to 2016, I ran five marathons with a goal of 2:50 or faster. I broke 2:50 just once.

So what do I do? I decide that my first marathon post-baby should be another sub-2:50 attempt. There was a reason for this nonsense, namely that I had run exactly that pace for a 12-mile marathon pace workout. A few weeks later, I comfortably cruised through 10-plus miles at that pace again… until a bad hamstring cramp freaked me out enough to cut the workout a few miles short. Before my last few marathons, I had done 16 miles at goal pace, but I consoled myself that I used to run big PRs off just 12. But stopping that workout early also meant I only ran two twenty milers, when I usually do three or more.

And so I fluctuated between thinking that 2:50 was crazy and trying to convince myself that maybe it wasn’t. But I knew I had to go for it; my recent confidence issues wouldn’t be fixed by finishing a marathon, but from challenging myself like I used to and seeing what I was capable of. As an added motivation, the top five would win prize money and, based on results from the last few years, 2:50 seemed like it would get me fourth or fifth. So I repeatedly tried to silence all negativity… or was I silencing logic? Whatever, just ignore it.

Race morning temps were in the twenties; I’m not sure I’ve ever run a marathon that cold and I was thrilled. (I would much rather be too cold than too hot when racing.) Just before the start, I removed my last layer: a long-sleeve I planned to ditch. As soon as I took it off, I put it right back on. I’d take it off once I warmed up after a few miles. (A few miles turned out to be 17.)

Early on I just tried to relax. I couldn’t believe the marathon was here and that I had to somehow get through 26.2 miles at my second fastest pace ever; I tried to not think about it. My hope all through pregnancy was to run this (now) hometown race as my first marathon back, and the fact that it was all working out—I am here doing it!—was special. I focused on being grateful and continually tried to ignore how far I had left to go.

All smiles early on.

 I hit the first few miles right around goal pace and at six miles I was in 5th place (thanks to the enthusiastic spectators for letting me know!) After a speedy downhill seventh mile, we crossed a bridge I used to run in college while training for my first ever marathon. On the bridge, a woman and a man caught me and I tucked in to form a little pack. We hit the mile 8 marker and the guy said something like, “Yes! We crushed that mile, let’s keep it rolling!” It reminded me how nice it was to have constant encouragement at your side, but I saw the split and knew it was a bit too fast for this early. (My plan was to wait until much, much later to get competitive.) I dropped back slightly. The guy gestured for me to get back with them, but I begrudgingly let them (and my podium spot) go. Maybe she’ll come back to me…

The whole race was fall perfection, but miles 8 to 10 were particularly gorgeous: the James River on one side and a canopy of autumn leaves overhead. Someone had set up a bonfire in his front yard, which seemed like the perfect way to spend a crisp fall morning. That, or going for a long run, which is what I truly love to do at this time of year. Right, enjoy this.

The next few miles had some hills and I tried to focus on little landmarks: when I’d take a gel (mile 10), when I might see my family (mile 11), when the course flattens again (mile 12). Somewhere around mile 12, I caught and passed the woman who dropped me at mile 8. I was back in 5th and for a stretch I felt really good. I hit the halfway a few seconds ahead of pace—perfect—and I didn’t dwell on the fact that I had just run farther at that pace than I have in a year and half (and now had to do it all over again). At a cheer zone around mile 14, the M.C. started yelling, “Alright everyone let’s cheer for this woman in pink!! Alright pink woman!” There was no else around, but I felt special nonetheless. I was having fun; I was doing what I set out to do. Maybe I can even pick it up? No. Still too early.

Around mile 15, the course goes over a long (~1.5 mile) highway/bridge heading back into the city. I knew from the elevation chart we were heading uphill again, but it was one of those long stretches where you can’t really tell you’re going up, except you’re slowing and it feels inexplicably hard and it’s windy and, Ugh, this is just the worst. The bliss I’d felt around mile 14 faded quickly. In any marathon this is a tough stretch for me; the early miles are taking their toll but you’re not yet close enough to start counting down to the finish. My feet were really starting to hurt, which seemed earlier than usual: Are my shoes too old?? Did running fewer miles in training mean I’m not prepared for all this pounding??  But then, I’m running a freaking marathon, of course my feet hurt! I refocused on taking it one mile at a time: Get to mile 17 and the course will flatten, get to mile 18 and take your last gel, get to mile 20 and you’re in the homestretch.

Near mile 19, I got passed again and this time I knew it was trouble. This was the point in the race to fight and go with her, but she flew by so fast it didn’t seem possible. My pace had slipped in the last few miles and I was now in danger of not getting top five or sub-2:50. C’mon, fight for it. But she was gone. There was a little blip of a hill over a highway and as I ran toward it I was praying, “C’mon, God, give me the motivation to get back in this race and not give up.” As I crested the hill, I saw the girl who just passed me blow by another woman and suddenly I knew I could catch that woman too. There had been no woman in my sights for miles; she must be slowing. Here we go.

Also in this stretch I heard the best cheer of the day. After I removed my long sleeve shirt, people could finally see my number, #22, and were cheering for it. One girl screamed, “I don’t know ‘bout you…” I knew it was directed at me, but I didn’t put it together for a few strides: “… but I’m feeling 22.” I was too far past her to say anything, but I wish I could tell her that is the most thought out cheer I’ve ever heard. Thank you.

As I focused on my new target, I passed the 20-mile mark. I always memorize my goal splits for 20 and 25 miles; I know that seems silly (especially 25) but it’s helped me in numerous races. If I’m anywhere close, it gives me a boost to know I’m ahead of pace or a kick in the pants if I’m just over. (If I’m nowhere close, I’m already well aware and not looking at splits anymore. See: Boston 2013, 2014 and the Trials.) I knew I was probably a few seconds slow, but when I saw the clock, it seemed I was nearly 40 seconds slow. Can that be right? That doesn’t seem right...? For some dumb reason (I am not exactly logical mid-marathon), I didn’t just look at my watch, which would later tell me that whatever I saw wasn’t right. I was only 11 seconds slow. I wish I had known that, 11 seconds seems within striking distance; 40 seemed unlikely. I tried to put it behind me; I can still get 5th. Focus on getting 5th.

Mile 24, all focus.

I caught 5th place a little after mile 20 and tried to make it decisive. She stuck with me for a bit before falling back and I tried to keep pressing. I was running scared, but it was helping. Once again, I felt good. I can do this. Maybe I can even pick it up and get back on pace. Miles 21 and 22 were faster and I started counting down: one more mile until I take PowerAde for the last time, then one more mile until I see my family, then one more mile and I’m done. I can do this. I AM DOING THIS. My feet hurt, my bones hurt, my left calf was tightening. Doesn’t matter, I’m picking it up, I’m finishing strong. Except, after mile 22, I wasn’t. I was slowing. Miles 24 and 25 were the slowest of the day. But I felt like I was trying; I felt like I was giving it my all. I knew sub-2:50 wasn’t going to happen, but I could get close. And more importantly, I could hang on to 5th. I had to hang on.

With just the 0.2 left, the course turns toward the river and you go flying downhill. People were cheering: “You’re in 5th!” “It’s the last podium spot, go get it!” As I got closer to the finish I swear I heard multiple people screaming, "She's on your tail!" I was sprinting all out, flying down the hill, praying out loud: “Please, please, let me get 5th. Please, please don’t let me give up now.” All the way to the finish line.

2:50:20. Fifth place.

So I did get my top 5 finish. Sixth place finished two minutes later. Once again I have no idea what those people were cheering about (or how I conjure up these hallucinations of cheers). The half was finishing simultaneously, so maybe they were cheering some rivalry among those finishers. (The top places had been decided long before.)

Women's Podium. (1st place left before the ceremony.)

But once again I did not break 2:50. Did I really push hard enough? What if someone had told me there was a woman on my tail a bit earlier? What if I hadn’t miscalculated the 20-mile split? Could I have knocked off 21 seconds to get my other goal of 2:49:XX? I don’t think so. Even “sprinting all out, flying down the hill” my split for the last 1.2 wasn’t all that fast. When I ran a huge ten-mile PR of 60:19 in 2014, someone commented that I should have gone just two seconds per mile faster to nab my original goal of sub-60. When you put it like that, it sounds easy (here, it was just one measly second per mile), but it’s not so simple. In those final miles, I really thought I was pushing it and picking it up, but my body wasn’t responding. Even if I had been under goal pace, I think I would have lost it in the final miles. Miles 24 and 25 were the slowest of the day, despite telling myself I could finally give everything I had left.

On the one hand, I’m a little annoyed I just missed it… but on the other hand, I’m also more than a bit surprised I did it at all. As always, God carried me through the race. He gave me a motivational boost right when I needed it most and proved once again that I capable of things that seem more than a little bananas on paper. The time is my second fastest EVER, fifteen seconds faster than I ran at the Trials when I was in MUCH MUCH better shape. (Case in point why I will happily take a day in the 20s over one in the 80s.) How did I do that? The training was not the greatest. The tune-up races were slower than goal pace. There were many times (that I was actively trying to ignore) when all the miles left seemed insurmountable, but unlike most races there wasn’t any particular moment where dropping out seemed like a real possibility. I’m not sure I vanquished all the demons I talked about in my last post, but I certainly proved I am still a marathoner who doesn’t give up. (Also: We are all capable of so much more than we realize, if we just believe it.) 

And that’s what I’m most excited about. Because the training for this marathon was shorter than normal, I wasn’t as eager as usual about a taper or time off. I’m already anxious to get going again (but am forcing myself to take my usual time off anyway). I’m dreaming of spring races and I’m excited to see what I can do on training that’s closer to 100 percent. All season, I considered this race to be the ultimate rust buster: just get the first postpartum marathon out of the way, it wouldn’t be perfect, it wouldn’t be a PR, but I’d prove I can conquer it again… and then next season I’ll get back to business.

I can’t wait.

Dream big, 

Teal

Ready or Not...

The Richmond Marathon is Saturday. Am I ready? Yes… and no. I’ve done the long runs, the tempos, the track workouts. Some went well, some didn’t, that’s pretty par for the course; no buildup is perfect. I went in with lower mileage goals and lower expectations to match. But despite doing pretty much everything I set out to do, I still don’t feel as ready as I’d like.

I think it's because coming back from Baby was so unpredictable. Some things were easier than expected, so in some ways I feel like I haven't done enough to deserve to run well. Other things were a lot harder than expected, totally blindsiding me, and they’ve left lasting scars on my confidence.

It's been a long road back, but I've done the work.
My body is ready... now to get my mind there...

Easier than expected: Endurance.
In early summer, I wrote out a plan that slowly increased my weekly mileage and my long runs. It looked a little daunting, considering I was coming back from six weeks of zero running and many months of short walk/shuffles. But the long runs came back surprisingly easily; twenty miles is once again no biggie, which seemed impossible just a few months ago.

As hard as expected: Speed.
I suspected speed would come back slower than endurance and that was/is definitely the case. All season, I’ve run basically one pace, whether it’s a half marathon, a ten miler, 12 miles at goal pace alone on the roads, a trail 5K. I can’t speed up in shorter races… but I also haven’t really slowed down in longer workouts. I may not be able to crush a 5K (when can I ever?) but if I can run that same pace for 26.2… then speed schmeed, I’ll be just fine with that.

Harder than expected:
1. Not having control/ownership of my body. One thing I didn't appreciate fully was the role nursing would play in my running. I figured I’d have to time workouts around Baby’s meals (definitely true in the early days, less of an issue now) and that I probably wouldn’t get to my racing weight this season. (I don’t feel comfortable worrying too much about weight loss while I’m nursing and see no need to rush things in that department.) I didn’t anticipate the ab issues I’d have, which my PT says won’t resolve until I stop nursing since the hormones can cause ligaments to stay loose. Because of that, I haven’t been able to attack core or strength workouts with my old gusto. My body is still not my own, and I can’t treat it as such. I didn’t anticipate that. The fact that I slacked off on these “little extras” makes me feel a bit like I didn’t put in enough effort, that I don’t deserve to run well.

2. But the much bigger issue that I did not see coming, AT ALL, is the hit that labor/delivery gave to my running self-esteem. I knew labor would be a doozy, to say the least, despite everyone assuring me, “You’re an athlete; you’ll be fine.” Well, I wasn’t. I always knew I’d get an epidural—I didn’t see the point in suffering when relief is possible and safe—but I didn’t anticipate how bad actually taking it would make me feel afterwards. All the women who do it naturally? How the fudge do they do that? And why couldn’t I? That mattered not a whit to me before labor, but somehow afterwards I felt really defeated that I couldn’t take it. (Though I do believe there’s something to be said for going in knowing I was going to get an epidural eventually. You can’t do anything your mind isn’t set on.) And ultimately I needed a c-section. While I am beyond grateful for modern medicine and a healthy happy Baby (albeit one with an off-the-charts-enormous head), I still feel like my body failed me. My body that I rely on so much to run well, it couldn’t do this thing it’s made to do.

One thing I hear repeatedly (I even wrote about it myself before Baby) is that labor toughens you. All these women say, “Running is easy after labor, nothing compares.” “If my body can do that, it can do anything.” Well, what if my body can’t/didn’t do that? Maybe everyone who says those things made it through naturally (and to them I say, “Heck yea, you are crazy tough and CAN do anything), but that would put them in the minority.

Maybe I’m alone in this (I hope so... I don't wish self doubt on anyone!), but I feel the opposite; my sense of toughness has been seriously questioned ever since labor. One person who labored naturally told me contractions just feel like bad menstrual cramps, but in my opinion they are at least an order of magnitude worse. Which makes me wonder: Maybe I’ve never had a bad cramp. Maybe I’ve never felt real pain. Maybe I’m a giant wuss.... And it spirals from there.

This attitude is absolutely terrible for the marathon. I do not think I’m a particularly talented runner; I certainly did not start off all that fast. I’ve always thought any success came from being tough and determined and now I’m left wondering… am I really?

This is the part where I’m not sure I’m ready. The marathon is a mental beast and your mind has to be ready to tackle it. I grappled with whether I should run at all. But giving up now—not even showing up at the start line—is giving into those demons that have haunted me for almost eight months. That’s not the answer. It’s time to shut them up.

It will not be easy; these last few days I’ve been preparing myself with mantras and battle strategies to have ready when the doubts start. In a recent episode of Lindsey Hein’s podcast, Deena Kastor explains that when the race gets tough you have to dig deep and "define yourself," and that’s what I feel I need to do. Remember what I am capable of and prove it to myself. Find the old Teal, deep within me somewhere. The one who IS tough, maybe not in the delivery room, but on the race course. Somewhere on the streets of Richmond, when the miles are taking their toll, and the pace starts to slip, she damn well better be ready to come out... or we're going to have to get her out, one way or another.

Dream big,
Teal

Race Reports (2 for 1!) – Navy Half and Army Ten

For my first postpartum race, the Navy Half Marathon, I was overly concerned about the logistics: getting there on time, feeding Baby beforehand, what to do with my bag while I warmed up… I hadn’t raced for real (i.e. while not pregnant) since the Trials, 19 months before. I worried I’d forgotten some crucial part.

I should have been more concerned about the weather, which is my normal pre-race pre-occupation and while I did realize the weather wasn’t great, it wasn’t until I was running my warm up—sans any warm-ups—that I realized just how not great it was. Warm and humid: welcome back to DC. (Sadly, Richmond is just as bad.)

My plan was to start on the slower side and run the first four miles around 6:40 pace, and then see if I could pick it up. I focused on not running the first mile too fast, as I’ve had a tendency to do in workouts lately. (My sense of pace hasn’t yet made its postpartum return).

I impressed myself with a 6:46 first mile, which I took as a good sign (not too fast!) and didn’t care that it was on the slower side. The next few miles were 6:37-6:38 and I made it 4 miles on 6:40 pace, exactly as I’d planned.

That boosted my confidence and I passed a few women. I was back in a race and seemingly handling it well. My sister was cheering around mile 6 and when she asked how I felt, I shrugged. “I dunno… hot?” I did feel hot… but also, not too terrible. I focused on making it to mile 7.5 where Husband and Baby were cheering. Seeing them felt like rocket fuel. (Though the double-caffeinated gel I took just before may also have contributed.) Suddenly I felt really good. Look at me, running a smart race in this weather. I’m going to negative split the heck out of this thing! I picked it up slightly, hit the turn around, saw my family again at mile 10, and picked it up some more. Maybe I should have started faster, maybe I’m in better shape than I thought… but then the 12th mile hit and I fell apart. When I had been feeling good, I told myself I’d really start pushing in the last mile, but the last mile came and I couldn’t go any faster. I got passed with about a mile to go and had no response. Despite not finishing on the greatest of notes, I still felt like I had done a pretty OK job at my first race back.

Best part of yesterday's race was seeing this one and her daddy (twice!) out on the race course. The boost they gave me helped me negative split despite the super gross, humid day. Seriously so grateful for such a supportive family. #nafhalf #finisher #medalmonday #halfmarathon #motherrunner #momswhorun #comeback #instarunners #supportsquad #postpartum #postpartumrunning #milestothetrials

A post shared by Teal (@runnerteal) on Sep 18, 2017 at 11:03am PDT

For my second postpartum race, the Army Ten Miler, I was hoping things would go even better. Navy had busted the rust, now it was time to work on racing a little better and digging deep at the end. Except the weather was—amazingly—even worse. Warm, humid, gross. Again. It was so bad, in fact, that the race organizers eventually shortened the course and stopped recording times.

Going in, I wasn’t too sure of an appropriate goal pace, which seems to be a trend of the season. I’m finding it difficult post-baby to know where I’m at. I end some workouts feeling like I should have gone faster while others (particularly tempo runs—my nemesis—that have often fallen on terrible weather days) are disasters. Coming off a great (weather) week and an excellent marathon pace run, I thought 6:20 pace would be doable. But at Army I didn’t hit 6:20 for the first, or the second mile, and by mile 3, 6:30 pace seemed more realistic.

But that wasn’t either. The next few miles were slower still. It started misting but not enough to provide any relief, somehow things just got wetter and grosser. I struggled to force down my caffeinated gel, telling myself even a placebo effect would be great. (PSA: Use tune up races to practice your goal race fueling. I don’t really need a gel in a 10 miler, but I definitely will in the marathon, so I made my stomach practice.) I felt like it helped, but my splits don’t show it. I focused on my other mid-race booster—seeing Baby and Husband, this time at mile 8.5. Just get to them. One more mile until I see them. Half a mile… When does this fudging bridge end?? Somewhere in the middle of the race I decided if I could just run my Navy Half pace (6:36), that would be something. (Would that be something?? This race is shorter… and it’s later in the season, when I should be in better shape. But sometimes you just need to come up with any goal, no matter how silly, that can stop you from totally throwing in the towel.)

Seeing my family again inspired me to pick it up slightly, mile 9 was at least faster than mile 8. But the mile-9 marker also made me realize I’d run 9 miles slower than my 10-mile PR. That was eye opening. Yipes, this is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Trying to remind myself why the heck I'm running
this terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad race.
[Photo credit: Cheryl Young]

But am I really pushing as hard as I could be? Post-baby I feel like I’ve forgotten how to push through hard workouts/races. So I tried to really dig and I was able to pick it up in the end, rather than slow down like at Navy, so that’s something. And I did finish in the same average pace as Navy, so at least I hit that totally-random-mid-race-I-need-something-to-go-for goal.

But that’s not saying much, as the race was my personal worst ten-mile time ever. I’m not even listed in the results and I’m totally fine with that. It appears like I didn’t run at all… and I started wishing I hadn’t. I felt bad I dragged my family up to DC for the weekend, just to run a race that left me feeling much worse. I ran faster for farther in a workout by myself. But that reminded me that I did at least get a workout in, if only a crappy, overly hyped one. It was clearly a bad day, and while I feel like I am always blaming the weather, it does appear to be somewhat legitimate in this case.

Besides, the trip was worth it because I got to spend the afternoon with good friends, eating all things pumpkin flavored, while Baby babbled race strategy with her future GRC teammates. Sometimes the best part of racing is the post-race.

The future of @grc_running. Getting some early practice in post-race recovery brunching. #armytenmiler #armyten #postrace #brunch #babiesofinstagram #runnerbabies #futurerunners #futurebrunchers #firstnikebib #shovelinthatfood #itshardtotakeaphotoofthreebabies

A post shared by Teal (@runnerteal) on Oct 8, 2017 at 4:50pm PDT

Dream big,
Teal