Category: Guest Post

fitness · Guest Post · running

3 things I hate(d) about running

ritzsa2 Comments
description: red text in the style of the movie “10 Things I Hate About You” re-written to read “3 Things I Hate(d) About Running”, next to a cartoon of a woman running
 

Last week I posted about my running journey since last fall, going from a stalwart non-runner — one might even say an anti-runner (both in the sense of being staunchly against the very idea of running, and in the sense of being the inverse of a runner, like the anti-Christ) – to a person who finished the Burlington Butter Tart 5K a few weeks ago by doing intervals of slow-running and walking. 

In that post, I noted how much I used to hate running, which makes it extra remarkable that I tried it again at all and that I’ve continued to do it. The funny thing is though, I still kind of hate running. Although I look forward to going out for a run, I feel good after a run, and I like the rituals I’ve built around running, while I am actually doing the running I can hardly wait for it to be OVER.

Even now that I have built a lot more stamina and cardiovascular capacity than I had when I started, the running itself still feels hard. I think I had assumed, or hoped, that at some point it would start to feel easy, and it hasn’t. It still feels hard. But I have figured out some ways that are helpful to me in dealing with that hardness.

Early on when reflecting on my experience of running, I realized there are 3 distinct types of discomfort that make me hate exercise: (1) I hate feeling winded and breathless; (2) I hate feeling hot and sweaty; and (3) I struggle with the sheer physical effort of putting one foot in front of the other.  However! The good news is, even though I still hate running, understanding more clearly what exactly it is I hate about running has actually been very useful. It’s helped me figure out how to cope with those things, alleviate or respond to them, motivate myself through them, and in some cases just accept them.  Here is what I have been finding helpful so far in dealing with those 3 types of discomfort:

Feeling Winded and Breathless: This might be easiest one.  I realized that if I’m breathing so hard that I’m uncomfortable, I can simply slow the fuck down and take a walking break, LOL. And this became a lot easier to do when I let go of any particular expectations of what I think I should be able to do – that I should be able to run without breaks, that I should be running at any particular pace.  Since I let go of that kind of achievement-oriented sensibility, it’s a lot easier to just ease up the pace when I need to so that my breathing and heart rate stay in a range that feels okay.

Feeling Hot and Sweaty: I’ve found 3 things that have helped me deal with this:

  • I started running last November, and initially I had thought that it was silly to start running just as winter was starting because of the weather. In hindsight I realize that it was probably a smart move. By starting to run during a cooler time of year, external heat and humidity weren’t part of the equation in the earliest days of running. It meant that I was only having to tolerate the heat and dampness generated by my own body, and the colder weather and wintry winds helped to moderate even those sensations.  It allowed me to build an initial foundation of improved cardiovascular fitness during cold and cool weather, so that by the time the more oppressive summer conditions arrived the habit of running regularly had already been well established, and I was able to ease into being hot and sweaty. If you already don’t like hot and humid weather, starting out as a beginner runner in the cooler months might be easier.
  • I realized that fabrics really matter.  Cotton fabrics absorb a lot of sweat and hold it there: gross.  I avoid cotton as much as possible in my running clothes, and choose synthetics or lightweight merino wool (particularly in winter).
  • I started carrying water, not for hydration per se, but for physical relief and cooling. I don’t run long or hard enough to need to actually re-hydrate during the run, but on a hot day, having a small squeeze bottle of water in my hand is great for shooting a little in my mouth to alleviate the yucky dry lips and mouth from heavier breathing, and squeezing more down my shirt to cool me off (in the summer, that is – I don’t think I’ll be shooting water down my shirt once winter comes!). Far more goes down my shirt than in my mouth.

Sheer Physical Effort: This is the hardest one for me to describe, as well as the one I find most challenging to manage.  It’s that sensation of heaviness in my legs (especially my calves) that comes on after running for more than a minute or so. It’s not pain – it’s just my muscles going UGH I DON’T WANNA. It’s just the UGH sensation of WHY exertion itself PLEASE CAN WE JUST WALK. It’s the toughest mind game for me about running, the argument between my legs and my brain about when we can stop, and my legs put up a very convincing argument most of the time. The thing is, running is exertion, I don’t know if there will be any getting around that. At this point, I’ve got a few mental strategies that seem to be at least somewhat helpful once the UGHs start:

  • Explicitly reminding myself that what I’m feeling is discomfort but not pain. I don’t like the way it feels, but it doesn’t hurt and it’s not a sign that anything is wrong.
  • Being attentive to my form and trying to make sure that I’m keeping my core somewhat engaged but otherwise being as relaxed as possible. Those UGHs are even harder to deal with when my whole body becomes tense or I’m slouching.
  • Deliberately evoking positive feelings by smiling or reciting little upbeat mantras to myself. I make myself smile by being proud of myself for getting out there and just doing it, appreciating the view over Hamilton Harbour or the plants and birds along the trail, thinking of my cat wearing a shirt, or any number of other things that bring me a bit of joy. Some of the little mantras I go to most often are things like “I can, I am, I will,” “settle in to it,” “it’s just yes,” and “keep showing up.” 
  • Remind myself that this discomfort is temporary. I only have to tolerate this for a little while, and then I get to go and have a nice iced coffee and a lovely shower and do whatever else I want to do. Tolerating 20 or 30 or 40 minutes of fairly minor discomfort is very well within my abilities (especially since I usually do run/walk intervals, so I get breaks from the discomfort).  I don’t have to do it forever, and soon, I will get to stop. Sometimes I even think of it as asking fierce me to stay in charge for just a few more minutes until we’re done the run and then couch potato me can take the helm again. 
  • I try to remember to put some kind of easily digestible carbohydrates in my system about 30-60 minutes before I go out for a run so that there is readily available fuel for my muscles. I don’t honestly know if this actually makes a real difference or not, but it seems biologically plausible to me, and whether it’s a real biological effect or a placebo effect probably doesn’t matter…to my way of thinking it’s a can’t-hurt-might-help kind of a situation. 
description: Blue and green stylized text that reads “Running always reminds me of how much I hate running.”

So! That’s how I’ve become a runner who still kind of hates running.  I’d love to hear what works for you!

Stacey Ritz is an associate professor at McMaster University, a vegetarian who uses lard to make pie dough because that’s how her grandma did it, and the owner of a bossy cranky cat who is currently wearing a shirt.

fitness · Guest Post · race report · running

Running does not have to be an achievement journey (Guest post)

Sam B1 Comment

by Stacey Ritz

If you had told me one year ago that I would run a 5K race this summer, I would have laughed in your face. But on Saturday, I ran the Burlington Butter Tart 5K.

Got my race bib on, waiting by the lake for the start.
(alt-text: a woman wearing a blue hat and a black “Slow AF Run Club” tank top with a red numbered running bib pinned to it, with Lake Ontario in the background)

I have never been a natural athlete. As a kid, I remember resenting the Canada Fitness Award Program, where I don’t think I was ever able to meet the Bronze standard for anything; in fact, the Program was discontinued in 1992 because it was viewed as “discouraging to those who needed the most encouragement,” which reflects my experience of it to a tee. The worst part was when we’d be sent outside to run a lap around the school perimeter. I always seemed to get a stitch in my side, and was always one of the very slowest ones (and sometimes dead last). All of my memories about running as a kid involve shame, embarrassment, physical discomfort, and envy of the kids who seemed to lope effortlessly around the school.

I tried running again during grad school, when many people in my lab were running. I found a training plan in a magazine for non-runners to get to a 30-minute sustained run in 10 weeks and decided to give it a try, absolutely determined that I would not quit before completing the plan. My friends assured me that by then I’d love it, but that didn’t happen. In week 10 I went out 3 times and ran for 30m as scheduled, but hated every bloody second of it, and I got home, took my running shoes off, and never put them on again. I figured I had given running a fair shot, and it just wasn’t for me.

So what on earth made me take it up again 25 years later? In early October 2022, I met a friend for dinner at a conference, and she told me that she had recently started running using the Peloton app, and was really loving it. Now, my sisters-in-law had been singing the praises of the Peloton app for quite some time, but they are both exercise lovers by nature, so their endorsement didn’t do much to convince me. But when my friend told me that she, too, had previously hated running, and using the Peloton app and springing for a good pair of running shoes had changed her mind, I decided to give it a try. She sent me a 60-day free trial for the app, and I went home and I bought a pair of Hoka running shoes.

I started by going out once a week, Saturday mornings, using the Peloton Outdoor walk/run workouts. I think part of my ultimate success was the pure dumb luck of having selected exactly the right workout for someone who was a true beginner. One of the things I find frustrating about the Peloton app is that it doesn’t provide much info about the detailed structure of their outdoor running workouts, so I was fortunate to have chosen one that had short running intervals (30 to 60s) separated by a couple of minutes walking. If I had chosen one marked “beginner” that had 3- or 4-minute running intervals, I think I likely would have quit; it was a few months before I could sustain 3 minutes of slow running comfortably.

By February, I had been going out consistently every week, and one day, to my great surprise, I discovered I was actually looking forward to my next run. In March, once the days had started to get longer and it was still light out when I got home from work, I started going out a couple of additional times on weeknights as well. In April, I happened across an advertisement for the Burlington Butter Tart 5K (where you get a butter tart at the end), and the idea amused me so much that I signed up for it.

Running this time around has been an interesting and thought-provoking journey for me. I had a particularly significant a-ha moment in February when I was out for a run and thought “I wonder how long it will be before I can just run continuously without taking walking breaks,” and then, my next thought: “it literally doesn’t matter if I never get any better at this. Even if I do walk/run intervals forever, even if I don’t extend the length of my running intervals, even if I never get any faster, it doesn’t matter at all.” That was an utterly transformative moment for me, and I’m still feeling the reverberations of it.

We are often such an achievement-oriented culture that it’s easy to fall into a pattern of thinking that we have to always be moving toward a goal of some kind to make our efforts worthwhile: to run faster, run longer, lose weight, whatever the achievement is that is supposed to motivate us. For me, rejecting that achievement mindset was paradoxically motivating: just getting out there and moving at any pace is worthwhile. I like the way I feel after a run; although I’ve never experienced the classic ‘runner’s high’ (even many elite athletes don’t, and there may even be a link between depression and not getting a runner’s high), I do get a diffuse sensation of a sort of spaciousness in my body for up to a day or so afterward that feels really good.  I also enjoy the little ritual I’ve built around my runs. And I feel positive about making a good investment in my health: I don’t give a rat’s ass about losing weight anymore, but I know that building stronger bones and muscles will be a valuable asset to me as I age (I turn 50 next year).One of the things that was helpful to me was following some non-archetypal runners on Instagram (I’m a particularly big fan of Sandra at @bigfit_i_run and Martinus at @300poundsandrunning), who helped affirm that there is nothing wrong with being a slow runner, and that running with walking breaks (also sometimes called jeffing) is a totally legit way of being a runner. In fact, a growing amount of research shows that running slower has some specific benefits that aren’t associated with more intense workouts.

During the race on Saturday, I completed most of it by alternating between 90s of slow running and 30s of walking. I can run for longer intervals than that now, but I tend to run a lot more slowly when I’m tackling longer stretches, so that 90s/30s strategy actually improves my overall pace. However, when I came around the final corner and could see the balloon arch finishing line in the distance, I pushed myself to run as hard as I could for the last 600m or so. In my head I felt like Usain Bolt, but the video my son took proves that I was really moving at what can only be generously called a hurried jog. I finished the race in 42m 53s. There are plenty of people who would not be even remotely impressed with that time (the winner of the race finished in 16m and change), but I didn’t do it to impress anyone.

Although I’m glad to have done it, I don’t think I’m going to run another 5K any time soon. One of the things I realized while preparing for this 5K race was that I don’t actually like running for more than 25 or 30 minutes at a stretch; I persisted with the 5K distance because I was determined not to back out of the race, but now that it’s done, I think I’ll go back to doing 20 or 30 minute outings. I also found that when I was preparing for this specific event, I tended to slip back into the goal-oriented mindset (maybe I can finish in under 40 minutes, if I train more maybe I can do the whole thing without taking any walking breaks) that my February insight had helped me escape from. Now that the race is done, I’m really looking forward to going back to that headspace where getting ‘better’ doesn’t matter.

Crossing the finish line at the Burlington Butter Tart 5K. In my head, I felt like I was sprinting at top speed, but video footage proves that it is more of a sort-of-hurried jog.

(alt-text: 4 runners approaching the finish line of a race, marked by a yellow, beige and brown balloon arch. 3 of the runners are blurred out to protect their privacy; the author is wearing black shorts, a black “Slow AF Run Club” tank top, and a blue hat.)

Stacey Ritz is a faculty member at McMaster University in Hamilton, crossword fan, and is a strong contender as the Canadian record-holder for most repeated viewings of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

post-5K.jpg:  Sinking my teeth into the race’s namesake after the finish.
(alt-text: a woman wearing a blue hat taking the first bite of a butter tart)
fitness · Guest Post · race report · running

Running does not have to be an achievement journey

ritzsa

If you had told me one year ago that I would run a 5K race this summer, I would have laughed in your face. But on Saturday, I ran the Burlington Butter Tart 5K.

I have never been a natural athlete. As a kid, I remember bitterly resenting the Canada Fitness Award Program, where I don’t think I was ever able to meet even the minimum standard for anything; in fact, the Program was discontinued in 1992 because it was deemed “discouraging to those who needed the most encouragement”, which reflects my experience of it to a tee. The worst was when we’d be sent outside to run a lap around the school perimeter. I always seemed to get a stitch in my side, and was always one of the very slowest ones (and sometimes dead last). All of my memories about running as a child involve shame, embarrassment, physical discomfort, and envying the kids who seemed to lope seemingly effortlessly around the school.

I tried running again during grad school, when many people in my lab were doing it. I found a training plan in a magazine for non-runners to get to a 30-minute sustained run in 10 weeks and decided to give it a try, absolutely determined that I would not quit before completing the plan. My friends assured me that by then I’d love it, but that didn’t happen. In week 10 I went out the requisite 3 times and indeed ran for 30m, but hated every bloody second of it. I got home after that 30m run, took my running shoes off, and never put them on again. I figured I had given running a fair shot, and it just wasn’t for me.

So what on earth made me take it up again 25 years later? In early October 2022, I met a friend for dinner at a conference, and she told me that she had recently started running using the Peloton app, and was really loving it. Now, my sisters-in-law had been singing the praises of the Peloton app for quite some time, but they are both exercise lovers by nature, so their endorsement didn’t do much to convince me. But when my friend told me that she, too, had previously hated running, and using the Peloton app and springing for a good pair of running shoes had changed her mind, I decided to give it a try. She sent me a 60-day free trial for the app, and I went home and I bought a pair of Hoka running shoes.

I started by going out once a week, Saturday mornings, using the Peloton Outdoor walk/run workouts. I think part of my ultimate success was the pure dumb luck of having selected exactly the right workout for someone who was a true beginner. One of the things I find frustrating about the Peloton app is that it doesn’t provide much info about the detailed structure of their outdoor running workouts, so I was fortunate to have chosen one that had short running intervals (30 to 60s) separated by a couple of minutes walking; if I had chosen one of the many marked “beginner” that had 3- or 4-minute running intervals, I think I probably would have quit. It took me several months before I could comfortably sustain a 3- or 4-minute stretch of slow running.

By February, I had been going out consistently every week, and one day, to my great surprise, I discovered I was actually looking forward to my next run. In March, once the days had started to get longer and it was still light out when I got home from work, I started going out a couple of additional times on weeknights as well. In April, I happened across an advertisement for the Burlington Butter Tart 5K (where you get a butter tart at the end), and the idea amused me so much that I signed up for it.

Running this time around has been an interesting and thought-provoking journey for me. I had a particularly important a-ha moment in February when I was out for a run and thought “I wonder how long it will be before I can just run continuously without taking walking breaks,” and then, my next thought: “it literally doesn’t matter if I never get any better at this. Even if I do walk/run intervals forever, even if I don’t extend the length of my running intervals, even if I never get any faster, it doesn’t matter at all.” That was an utterly transformative moment for me, and I’m still feeling the reverberations of it.

I think we are often such an achievement-oriented culture that it’s easy to fall into a pattern of thinking that we have to always be moving toward a goal of some kind to make our efforts worthwhile: to run faster, run longer, lose weight, whatever the goal is that is supposed to motivate us. For me, rejecting that achievement mindset was paradoxically motivating, and has allowed me to recognize that just getting out there and moving at any pace is worthwhile. I like the way I feel after a run, and I enjoy the little ritual I’ve built around my outings. Plus I feel like I’m making a good investment in my long-term health: I don’t give a rat’s ass about losing weight anymore, but I know that building stronger bones and muscles will be a valuable asset to me as I age (I turn 50 next year).

One of the things I found helpful was following some non-archetypal runners on Instagram (I’m a particularly big fan of Sandra at @bigfit_i_run and Martinus at @300poundsandrunning), who helped affirm that there is nothing wrong with being a slow runner, and that running with walking breaks (sometimes called “jeffing“) is a totally legit way of being a runner. In fact, a growing amount of research shows that running slower has some specific benefits that aren’t associated with more intense workouts.

I completed the 5K race on Saturday by alternating between 90s of slow running and 30s of walking for the majority of the race (except for the final 600m or so where I could see that beautiful balloon arch at the finish line and just pushed through to get there). My final time was 42m 53s, I am damn proud of that.

Although I’m very pleased to have completed the race, I don’t think I’m going to run another 5K any time soon. One of the things I realized while preparing for it was that I don’t actually like running for more than 25 or 30 minutes at a stretch, and because I’m slow, 5K takes me nearly 45 minutes. I persisted with it because I was determined not to back out of the race, but now that it’s done I think I’ll go back to 20 or 30 minute outings. And I also don’t really like “preparing” for something — it tends to puts my head back into the goal-oriented space (“maybe I can finish in under 40 minutes”, “maybe I can run for the whole distance without any walking breaks”) that my February insight helped me escape from. I’m going to go back to just running for its own sake where it literally doesn’t matter if I never get any better

Stacey Ritz is a faculty member at McMaster University in Hamilton, crossword fan, and is a strong contender as the Canadian record-holder for most repeated viewings of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

fitness · Guest Post · race report · racing · triathalon

Racing at IRONMAN Lake Placid (Guest Post)

maclachlancheryls

Last weekend, I participated in IRONMAN Lake Placid. It was my third IRONMAN and I went into the weekend feeling strong but also keeping in mind the course was hard and in long races, nothing feels guaranteed.

A sea of swim caps just before the swim start with Mirror Lake looking calm.

There are a few things that reliably help me through a long swim, one of them being a reminder that when I was a kid you could not get me out of the water! I know lots of triathletes just aim to survive the swim, but I’m usually able to enjoy it at least a little. Mirror Lake was a beautiful spot to swim 3.8km, and while I wasn’t able to use the cable much and found myself butting up against lots of (at the time, annoying) swimmers despite the rolling start, I found a decent rhythm in the swim. Later, I was pleased to see I took a little bit of time off my last IRONMAN swim time. Regular swimming with Balance Point Triathlon has given me a lot more confidence in the swim over the past few years and other than some super painful chafing on my neck (there’s a first for everything!), I’ll look back on the swim with fond memories of a solid warmup (1:11:34) for the long day ahead.

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Enjoying the bike course on both laps 1 and 2 even though it got rainy.

After going on a few trips to train in the big hills/mountains, riding portions of the bike course, driving the bike course, listening to podcasts and watching videos about the terrain, asking anyone who’d offer advice, and purchasing ~a bajillion dollars in upgrades to my bike set-up, I felt as ready as I could be for the bike portion of IRONMAN Lake Placid. Turns out, the challenge was “just right” and I loved watching people fade on the second lap. I faded too, but when it started pouring rain on the climb back in, I remembered the rides I’d done in the similarly pouring rain at home and hoped any 35-39-year-old women out there (stayed safe but) slowed down.

The climbs weren’t the only thing that were absolutely breathtaking–the scenery was postcard beautiful nearly the whole time and the descent into Keene I’d worried about for weeks was scary but as I hit 76km/hr on my skinny (but tubeless and new!) tires I was so grateful for plenty of space from my fellow racers, my new bike and the experiences I’ve had on bikes in hilly places over the last decade or so. I hated watching my average speed drop on the backside of the course, but I felt so strong on the flats and was warned about that dropoff! The backdrop of towering Whiteface Mountain and knowing that Brent climbed it just for training a few days before inspired me, too, and gave me some perspective that while the course was tough, it was in the realm of appropriately challenging. I got to see my non 35-39-year-old women friends (mostly as they passed me–way to go!) and other than some blatant drafting that set the obsessive rule-follower in me off, I had the kind of bike I could only hope for. I assumed I’d gone slower (6:13:26) here than last year on the also-challenging-but-maybe-not-quite-as-challenging IRONMAN Mont Tremblant bike course, but turns out that was a PR. Amazing what hard work and about ~$10,000 in upgrades can get you!

Heading out on the first lap, smiling about the downhill start.

In any race, I worry (a lot) about (a lot of) things–from losing my goggles or drowning in the swim to getting a flat tire or crashing on the bike–so I’m always a bit relieved to get to the run and only have to worry about moving forward on my own two feet. With that in mind, I started the run happy to be off the bike. Even though I knew I might fade later, I went with the good feeling and let it rip. Between spectators hitting the nail on the head with their Goggins-inspired encouragement and fellow runners I chatted with on the first loop, it was easy to smile for the cameras! In the back of my mind, I knew I had some work ahead of me and if I’m being honest, the hill I was dreading on the way back into town was every bit as hard as I thought it would be–yowzer! 

Looking a little bit more tired but giving the thumbs up heading uphill on lap 2.

On lap 2, I felt the twinge of cramps. I held them off by slowing, doing the math on how slow I could go and still hit my (arbitrary, ambitious, motivating) goal of averaging <6:00/km. At one point, I rubbed some of my base salts on a nasty wetsuit burn on my neck to distract myself from the cramps. Boy, did that remind me that things could get worse! The scenery, especially the ski jumps in the distance, and the shared suffering with other racers got me through the long out and back, as did thinking on purpose about friends and family–and drinking coke at every aid station. Seeing my friends, telling strangers they looked good, and reminding myself out loud that “it’s not supposed to be easy!” helped, too. My coach Ang’s reminder that “suffering is a privilege” helped me push myself instead of shying away from the challenge. I spent a while imagining my dog Walter pulling me by his leash before tackling that darn hill one more time! Luckily, the love of my life and total hunk Brent was stationed mid-ascent with one of my favourite songs in the world playing for me. Better yet, he let me know that I was fairly firmly setting myself up to finish 10th in my AG–good enough (in the Women for Tri era, but more to explore and unpack there!) for a Kona qualifier. From there, I felt lighter in my step and had to remind myself to enjoy the last mile, taking some time to let it all soak in. 

In the finisher chute.

As a girl who cited period cramps and walked off the track the day we ran the mile in 9th grade gym class, I always draw strength from looking back on my journey to the point where I’ll pay lots of money to run lots of miles. As cheesy as it sounds, as I ran to the finish line, I thought on purpose about how proud of that young girl I am for the progress she’s made and the woman I’ve become. I somehow held it together at the finish line (4:09:13 marathon, which works out to 5:56/km) and almost argued with Brent (sorry, honey–you’re the best!) when he told me my finishing time and that I’d PR’d across the board and overall (11:42:19). 

Tired but happy to finish, get a medal and sit down!

I am so grateful for the way that my person (Brent), my coach, my tri club, my friends, coworkers and family have supported and encouraged me and for the opportunity to choose to suffer in this sport. As I’ve said before, I love to see what I can get out of myself and racing helps me do that. Can’t wait to do it again (after some recovery and some heat-training) in just under 12 weeks. 

If IMLP is on your maybe list, move it to your must-do and get training–it’s no joke! 

Cheryl MacLachlan is an endurance athlete, teacher and coach living in London, ON. She is always looking for another bike and loves her dog Walter, books and writing.

fitness · Guest Post

Summer Forever (Guest Post by Elena Napolitano)

fieldpoppy1 Comment

Ever since I can remember I have always felt most “myself” in water.  As a kid growing up on the North Shore of Long Island, it was literally the shaping force of my summers, the pattern of the day set by the tide schedule stuck to the fridge door.  Swimming in the Sound or exploring sandbars and rocky beaches, I learned to test my physical boundaries and independence. The prospects of where I could go and what I could do, like the summers themselves, were expansive and exciting. 

Kid Elena in the best bathing suit

This year is the first since those childhood summers that I find myself with long and unstructured time off. Beginning in May, I took a medical leave from my job to address symptoms I attributed to pandemic related anxiety and general burnout. Then one night in early June I had a “panic attack” that lasted nearly three hours. When my partner took me to the emergency room I clocked in with a heart rate of 225.

A few shots of adenosine, some diagnostics, and the care of numerous excellent health care providers (pay nurses more!) later, I was diagnosed with AVNRT, a form of tachycardia in which there are extra electrical signals that sustain an elevated heart rate. I opted for a catheter ablation, a procedure in which parts of heart tissue are burned to create scarring that dampens the rogue signals.

The weeks between my hospital discharge and my surgery were the most sedentary of my life. Even trips to the supermarket required rests between aisles while holding onto the cart for stability. I joked with my friends that I felt like a convalescing Victorian lady, vapours and all. However, I was terrified that my capacity to do anything physically taxing was irrevocably compromised. As an adult, I’ve never felt completely at home with my body but I have learned to respect its capabilities, strength and sturdiness and I have been fortunate not to have experienced any major illness or injuries. Up until this point I thought my body and I had a mutual understanding, but now it felt unreliable, weak, a stranger to me.

It wasn’t until my surgery that I began to recognize that, in order to heal that relationship, I had to be my own guide to finding and honouring my new normal. This realisation came in part from processing the trauma of the procedure itself (not to get into gory details but sedation is contraindicated so I was wide awake for the whole painful affair) but also from the example of support and care given to me by my community of friends and family, for which I am profoundly grateful.

I’m now three weeks post-op and it will take up to three months for my heart to fully heal. Recovery has not always been a linear path. On the days where my heart rate is wonky or the fatigue sets in early, I still resist the urge to feel betrayed and furious that my body won’t comply with my demands. On days like this, the knowledge that the false dichotomy between the body and mind is a construct of capitalism and a tool of the patriarchy somehow just doesn’t cut it. I crave comfort, fun and a place of safety.

8 year old Elena

 

I think I’ve found that place back in the water. My “free” summer has opened up time to swim to my heart’s content (pun intended). Somewhere along the way I tapped into some serious childhood nostalgia as part of my healing journey and am now fully embracing what I call “kid summer.” What this looks like can vary – sometimes it is rising late on a Wednesday morning and heading straight to my condo’s pool in Toronto. Other times it is days spent on the couch with books and snacks, nights spent staying up late to watch movies.

I recently impulse bought a nightshirt with a sparkly watermelon and the phrase “Summer Forever” that would have thrilled eight-year old me. Underlying all of these activities is a gentle nurturing of curiousity and potential, and remembering that feeling “myself” is not a static state but a practice of self compassion.

My excellent nightshirt

Today I’m at my grown-up version of the beach: my in-laws’ cottage off Georgian Bay. I grab my towel and head down to the water to visit the little group of painted turtles that have taken up residence in the channel. They are watchful and cautious at first, hiding underwater among the weeds at the first signs of my approach. After a few minutes they reappear one by one, poking their red striped heads out of the water or crawling up to a floating plank to bask in the sun. I lay my towel out on the stones at the water’s edge and join them in the basking. In time they will be ready to dive back in, and so will I.

 

Elena Napolitano is a white, queer femme who lives in Toronto with her partner and her intrepid little elder dog, Maddy. Part time Art Historian, full time nerd, she also loves swimming, hiking and painting cheeky little birds.

Book Reviews · fitness · Guest Post

Summer reading from Tucson, Arizona

Sam B

by Mary Reynolds

The Tour de France Femme starts Sunday, July 23; read the book by Kathryn Bertine, who fought to bring the race back for women. Inspiring athletes and adventurers, past and present, make up my summer reading list. And one musician biography, for those who remember the ’80s.


Athlete and activist Kathryn Bertine wrote Stand: A Memoir on Activism, and she lives in Tucson! Although this book is a couple of years old, Bertine’s message is critical for anyone trying to change patriarchal systems, also known as “we’ve always done it this way.” Bertine gathered a small team of professional female athletes to challenge the Tour de France organizers, gathered hundreds of thousands of signatures on a global petition, and worked behind the scenes to get to the 8-day stage race we will cheer for next week. There’s still work to be done to make it 21 days to equal the men’s race.


Kathrine Switzer is Marathon Woman, and she shares her story of becoming the first woman to run the Boston Marathon and the fight to include women in the race. A classic book combining feminist activism with the hard work of marathon training.I love hiking and biking in northern Arizona and Ladies of the Canyon, by Lesley Poling-Kempes, shows what it was like to hike and ride horses through this region in the mid-19th century. The author took a deep dive into the archives and uncovered stories of women who traveled into canyons and across Monument Valley. Women with long skirts and cinched waists ride cowboy style through the desert heat, creating lives for themselves in the wild west.


The Forgotten Botanist: Sara Plummer Lemmon’s Life of Science and Art,  by Wynne Browne, tells another adventure story from the 1800s.  Sara taught herself botany and explored the southwest with her husband. She scaled cliffs and crossed deserts to collect and name new plant species in Arizona, California, Oregon, and Mexico. She was also an activist in women’s suffrage and forest conservation. The famous cycling climb in Tucson is up to the top of Mount Lemmon, named after Sara who was the first white woman to reach the peak (hiking, not cycling).

In Why Sinéad O’Connor Matters, Allyson McCabe, looks at the life, music, and complex public image of the artist. After a childhood of family abuse, a teacher/nun introduced O’Connor to the guitar. She took control of her own music before she was 20 years old, and famously criticized the Catholic church for hiding child abuse (denied at the time, and later proved to be true). Her song writing and voice won awards, but popular opinion often turned against her. McCabe argues O’Connor was held to a different standard than the male musicians of her time. Read while listening to “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

Photo of books titled: Stand, Marathon Woman, The Forgotten Botanist, Ladies of the Canyon, Why Sinead O’Connor Matters

Mary Reynolds writes and bikes in Tucson, AZ, and is writing a book “The Quake That Drained the Desert.”

one black chess piece separated from red pawn chess pieces An Individual ND Approach to Fitness (Guest Post)
diversity · fitness · Guest Post · inclusiveness

An Individual ND Approach to Fitness (Guest Post)

elan.paulson

By Becky Sinnott

Becky Sinnott

I’m a late-diagnosed ADHD person (at 40!), with autistic traits, and a mom of 7-year-old neurodivergent (ND) twins, who are also ND.

As a youth, I struggled to be part of many fitness activities through school and with my peers, as I was excluded and bullied out of most team sports. As with most teachers, my physical education (P.E.) teachers treated me like I was intentionally weird. It was terrible for my mental health.

I was still fit and active; it just looked different from a “standard fitness routine.” I spent a lot of time walking, dancing, cycling, or being a “tourist in my own town.” I did a lot of gardening. Activity was part of life. 

As an adult, I’ve reflected on how many exercise routines are based on behaviorism:  Rewards, punishments, deprivation, gruelling hours, and misery. So I’ve always felt kind of glad that I wasn’t included in sports whose players trained that way. Behaviorism is the theory on which “conversion therapy” and Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) are based; these reward/punishment systems have been and continue to be used to abuse and manipulate people (but that’s a topic for another day.)

In contrast, the ND community is developing healthy, life-integrative tools, resources, and groups to overcome inertia (task paralysis), avoid fatigue, promote “stacking or scaffolding,” and curate activities around what ND folks actually like to do and are already doing.

Non-exercise Activity Thermogenisis [NEAT] is the increase in overall activity in your daily life rather than focusing on workouts a few times a week, which can be unattainable for many ND people due to various reasons including financial, safety, lack of supports, and infrastructure inaccesibility. 

Quite often the inaccessibility impacts the people that need it most, where taking a NEAT approach means it’s accessible to everyone. For example, according to NEAT, dancing (especially in your kitchen) can be as good as jogging when it comes to fitness, and because it’s fun you’re more apt to keep doing it! For further description of NEAT, here’s a High Brow description.

Here are some NEAT examples that help me to integrate fitness into my life:

  • Calling a friend (body doubling) and going for a walk is enjoyable, and we can be in two separate cities while doing it.
  • Gardening, which is great exercise and good for my mental health.
  • Volunteering, at a food bank or a library. Lots of heavy lifting and I’m doing some good for the world.
  • Becoming familiar with self-regulation tools and my own needs/accommodations list (I’m building a printable package right now) and putting them into place to structure more activity, which assists me regardless of my physical or mental health for the day.
  • Knowing when I need to rest.

It can be challenging for neurotypical people to make exercise more accessible for ND folks. I have a few ideas to consider:

  •  Team sports can be tough for anyone, but it’s especially the case for some ND people with sensory challenges. What supports could be applied in those situations? 
  • Many ND people have other hidden disabilities such as motor skill/coordination disorders like dyspraxia, or connective tissue disorders such as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. What tools would assist in participation?
  • ND people may face additional challenges, such as Language Processing Disorder, that may not make them seem like good team players. How can you provide more time for folks to process in certain environments?

There are many benefits to having Neurodiversity in sport and fitness activities. ND athletes

  •  are good problem solvers
  • work well under pressure (ADHD)
  • are geat at seeing patterns and detecting flaws in opposing teams
  • help team members to develop new social skills, novel approaches to challenges, and the pride of being in a well rounded group

Many ND people (and people with other disabilities) have spent most of their lives building or finding workarounds and bending “rules” in order to have reasonably functional lives. Their non-linear experiences and creativity has helped the neurotypical and able world to find solutions to various challenges in various places in society.

When a person with a disability requests an accommodation or more accessibility, they need it in order to function, and everyone else benefits, so there’s no good reason not to work with those requests. I’ve noticed as I take my littles through the process of finding sports and other activities, being straightforward with their challenges has opened more doors than it’s closed.

Takeaways:

  1. The ND community is actively building more manageable and positive approaches to fitness and health.
  2. NEAT is a great starting point in developing life structures help becoming more active for everyone.
  3. One particular routine isn’t necessary: do what you like and switch up often because variety is the spice of life.
  4. And when you just can’t, that’s okay: listen to your body and mind and give yourself permission to rest. Rest is a basic need. Self-compassion and un-shaming for when you fall off the wagon will help you get back on sooner.
  5. Accommodations and accessibility are necessary to some but beneficial to everyone.
  6. Inclusion in physical activity offers unexpected benefits to everyone. 
fitness · Guest Post

To Sample or Specialize? Why Does it Matter Long Term? (Guest Post)

Sam B

By Sarah Teetzel

What do we really know about the long-term benefits of sport sampling?


The risks and negative outcomes of early sport specialization are now well understood. From research on sport attrition and when and why people (particularly teenage girls) drop out of sport, researchers have identified several factors that contribute to negative sport and physical activity experiences.


Sport specialization involves high-intensity training in one sport to the exclusion of all other sports. While it was long believe to be a path to high performance success and advanced skill acquisition, the research literature and Canada’s Long-Term Development in Sport and Physical Activity framework agree that specialization prior to late adolescence can do far more harm than good.


Plenty is known about the risks of early sport specialization, particularly the connections between intensive training and negative outcomes with respect to overuse injury risk. Ample research also suggests that early specialization is linked to a greater risk of burnout, shortened peak performance, and decreased motivation to engage in activity. Yet the posited alternative to specialization, most often a multisport experience, where youth “sample” a variety of activities and in doing so gain myriad sport skills, is far less studied.


Also known as diversification, sport sampling refers to athletes who take part in more than one organized sport in a year as well as informal and enjoyable physical activities. Sport sampling is assumed to be beneficial and protective, but why?

Image description: a collage of 4 photos showing two kids frolicking along the shore of a lake, shooting hockey pucks, swinging a golf club at a driving range, and playing soccer in the snow. The word ‘multisport’ appears in yellow font in the middle of the image.



A lack of diversified activity may not allow young children to develop the appropriate neuromuscular and motor skills that are effective for participation in lifelong sport and physical activity. Some research supports the idea that children aged 6 to 12 who participate in a wide array of sports are more likely to be involved in sport as adults, suggesting that sampling has a protective effect against burnout and attrition from sport. Athletes who avoid specializing are also believed to be more physically literate and comfortable executing a wider variety of motor skills that are transferable across sports. The idea that sport sampling can be an effective pathway to both high-performance sport success and continuing sport participation into and throughout adulthood is increasingly prevalent. Yet we don’t actually know if or why sampling or diversification in youth correlate with physically activity levels and physical literacy in adults.

Does having a multisport experience prior to the first identified dropout point in sport (i.e., approximately age 12) correlate with being a physically active and/or physically literate young adult, and adult?

We are working with Sport for Life to see if research data supports this belief and assumption.


To do so, a survey addressing what you recall participating in prior to age 12 and what you enjoy today has been created, with the option of signing up for a follow-up interview with a member of the research team. Canadians aged 18-60 are invited to participate. (A separate study looking at similar themes in older adults is planned for the future.)

Image description: A poster advertising the study with a QR code to access the informed consent form for the survey at https://uwinnipeg.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_1LdNbqu5BFL8Ptk. The background images feature people engaging in jogging, yoga, skiing and stand up paddleboarding.

More information about the study and access to the informed consent form to participate is available here or by scanning the QR code above. The survey can be completed in English or French.

The Principal Investigator of the study is Dr. Melanie Gregg at the University of Winnipeg, and the study has been funded by a SSHRC Partnership Development grant. The University of Winnipeg’s research ethics board has approved this study.


Sarah Teetzel is a professor in the Faculty of Kinesiology and Recreation Management at the University of Manitoba and a member of the research team working with colleagues at Sport for Life Canada on the Diversification for an Active Life study. She is a former U Sports swimmer who now spends her leisure time playing driveway hockey, hiking, and every so often remembering why she used to love to swim by visiting her local pool.

fitness · Guest Post · swimming

My fitness journal, Part 1: Swimming

savita1

I want to focus on some swimming goals. My past performances are going to help me shape my swimming goals for 2023. 

I track my workouts and activities on an online fitness app. I’ve been doing this for a while, and it’s interesting to see the trends, especially in my swimming activities from year to year. Here are the data for total number of swims from 2012-2016:

  • 2012: 79
  • 2013: 80
  • 2014: 75
  • 2015: 78
  • 2016: 85 (wow!)

From 2012-2016, it was a pretty steady routine, averaging 80 swims per year. I included practices and competitions. Then it dramatically dropped from 2017-2019. I’m trying to remember why. Perhaps I was taking a break; I had been swimming with our Masters team, the London Silver Dolphins, since 2002 and started to ramp up my swimming once I started to go to meets. Maybe I wanted to try other fitness activities. And then it was March 2020, and our swimming seasons got disrupted until September 2022.

So what about my swimming goals for 2023? 

I want to get back to what I did from 2012-16. I was averaging 80 swims per year (rounding up). What about the distance? The average mileage was 140.8 km/year. That’s 1760 m per swim.

Ok, so now I have my goal for 2023: 80 swims, 141 km.

So far? 19 swims, 37.8 km: 1989 m per swim. Awesome! 

BUT: are numbers all that matter?? 

Of course not. They’re an easy benchmark, and provide a concrete goal. And, as a scientist by training, it’s easy for me to compile and analysis numerical data. But there’s other types of data that can be collected and analysed. Emotional data. Because that’s the primary driver of going to the pool. 

The smell of chlorine is familiar and comforting. It tells me that I’m in a good place and that I’m about to get into the pool. There are times where my motivation wanes; it’s late at night and maybe I’m really NOT in the mood. But lately, that has not been an issue, likely because this is the first full season since the beginning of the pandemic. On the pool deck, I do some warm-up exercises and look at the workout to plan my gear (pull buoys, fins, etc). 

That initial dive is exhilarating. I go into autopilot as I find my pace, and focus on my technique. I love an endurance workout because it allows for getting into a rhythm. The sound of my deep breathing, the rush of the water. I love a speed workout because of the feel of slicing through the water. My body feels powerful and coordinated and I love the feel of the water wash over me. I’m always thinking about technique: the alignment of my body; the reach, catch and pull of my arms and upper body; rotation around the long axis; the 3-beat kick of my legs. 

After getting out of the pool and changing back into my clothes, I feel pleasantly relaxed. My skin smells like chlorine. I’m thirsty (even though I’ve been drinking water throughout the workout)! I swim late at night, so after I get home, I have a shower and a snack and then relax by playing word games before going to bed. And I SLEEP. 

The physical feelings extend into the next day. I feel light and loose and my breathing is relaxed. My brain feels activated. And I’m still thirsty (can’t drink too much at night, because I’ll need to get up to pee)!

How does your favourite exercise make YOU feel? Do you keep a journal? It’s a new experience for me, so any advice is welcome!

A beautiful blue outdoor swimming pool on a sunny day
disability · fitness · Guest Post

Part 2: The mystique of choice feminism  (Guest post)

Sam B
Image description: Book cover, Ivanka Trump: Women Who Work: Rewriting the Rules for Success

In my last post, I argued that beauty culture, which is supported by beautyism (a preference for “beautiful bodies”), is an artefact of ableism eugenics. In this post, I will explain why I think that choice feminism supports this ableist system. Choice feminism treats women’s choices as inherently justified and politically acceptable. If women choose to cosmetically alter their appearance, this is nobody’s business but their own. There are two main problems with this view.

First, choice feminism ignores the intersectionality inherent in the category “women.” It is patently false that women’s choices cannot be criticized as racist, heteronormative, ableist, and oppressive in other ways. Nondisabled white women, in particular, are complicit in the prevailing system of white-supremacist eugenics, because their choices routinely contribute to this system of oppression. Choice feminism shields privileged women from accountability for their ableist preferences and values. It says that women should be allowed to fear and scorn disabled (black, fat) bodies with impunity from judgment. In other words, choice feminism denies the force of the critique from Black, queer, and disabled feminists (as outlined in my last post), that the beauty industry promotes a white, thin, nondisabled appearance, and people who use cosmetic products to achieve this look are participating in a system of able-bodied privilege.

Second, choice feminism treats beautyism as a purely personal and private choice as opposed to a response to a system of oppression that compels obedience and submission. Choice feminism, that is, gets things backwards. Beauty culture isn’t the outcome of many private consumer choices, but rather a political economy that sells able-bodiedness as the onlyreasonable choice. As Robert McRuer puts it, able-bodiedness is “compulsory” in the sense that it is a condition of being seen as normal, but “compulsion is here produced and covered over with the appearance of choice…, mystifying a system in which there actually is no choice.” Choice feminism papers over the system of compulsory able-bodiedness that demands physical conformity from everyone. When women participate in this system, they are contributing to the politics of eugenics. Their choices are not independent of this system, but integral parts of it.

Having said this, it’s important to recognize that we can and should resist beauty culture. But in order to do this, we need to do two things. First, we have to admit that beauty culture is a system of oppression that stigmatizes and eliminates socially disvalued traits, which are labeled as disabilities. Second, we have to recognize that ableism, racism, fatphobia, and other prejudices intersect with each other and contribute to a eugenics culture. In this culture, being “beautiful” simply means being able-bodied, and being able-bodied overlaps with being white and gender-conforming. Having these traits confers social capital and status. Beautyism, then, is a pillar of ableist eugenics in that it selects and favors these traits. It is not a “mere preference” that consumers happen to have. It is a component part of a system of ableist eugenics that punishes and eliminates disability. Choice feminism mystifies this system by denying that women’s choices have political import. It prevents us from criticizing women’s ableist choices.

Bio:

Mich Ciurria is a queer, disabled philosopher who teaches at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. Her/their research interests include moral psychology, Marxist feminism, and critical disability theory. She/they is the author of An Intersectional Feminist Theory of Moral Responsibility (Routledge) and a regular contributor to the blog BIOPOLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.