Category: race report

aging · fitness · race report · racing · running · training

The joys (and challenges) of fall trail running

Tracy I
Image description: three-photo collage with the heading “Howing Ghost Trail Run, Aylmer ON, September 28, 2024,” from left to right: left is a group shot of five smiling runners pre-race (Julie, Ed, Pat, Anita, Tracy), with trees in the background; middle is a selfie of a smiling older woman (Tracy) in a pink tank, black ballcap, and trail in the background; right is a post race selfie of four smiling runners (Tracy, Ed, and Pat in back, Julie in front) all wearing t-shirts that say Howling Ghost Trail Race on them.

My favourite month is September, and it’s not just because it’s my birthday month. I love it for the perfect weather and the changing palette of nature. Cool mornings, less intense sun even in the middle of the day, hints of red and orange starting to show among the greenery. What better time of year for trail running than the early fall!

So that’s how I let peer pressure push me into an 8K trail race after I said I was done with official running events. I call it a race, but with my current 8K time being slower than my 10K used to be, it’s just an outing, on a trail, with 140 other people, followed by lunch. Here’s how it went.

First of all, though the title of my post refers to “joy,” there was little of that for me during the run. I mean, it’s always enjoyable to be with my running crew, and five of us made it out that day. It’s fun to get out of town, even if it’s just a little bit out of town. The Howling Ghost Trail Race was in Aylmer, at the Springwater Conservation Area.

We’ve been having brilliant weather lately, but of course leading up to race day the forecast probability of precipitation increased from 40% to 60% and finally settled at 80% for the time that we were scheduled to run. I fully expected to be running at least part of the trail in the pouring rain, which would have also meant navigating mud. To my great surprise, the rain held off. The prospect of it hung heavily in the air throughout, making it a muggy outing through the woods. Thank you Julie for remembering bug spray.

I had no race strategy other than, ridiculously, I had planned to do 10-1 run-walk intervals. I say “ridiculously” because I have been working my way up to 10-1 run-walk intervals gradually for the past months and I have not trained consistently enough for any length of time to actually get there. Throwing, “don’t change anything on game day” out the window, I set myself up to fail. Other than an unrealistic race strategy, which I gave up on before the first 10 minutes was up, I have one rule and one rule only that I apply when training, out for a leisure run, or doing an event: run, don’t walk, up the hills. At every hill I reminded myself of that, a rule that I cling to when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. I stuck to it almost entirely, except for one part towards the end where there was a hill, a slight levelling, and the MORE HILL. At the MORE HILL, I said “nope.”

The poorly chosen unreasonable 10-1 strategy was a mistake because it created a mental battle. It is a very bad idea to have a goal that is not realistic because, for me, it puts me in a “falling short” mindset instead of a “killing it!” mindset. If I had stuck with 6-1 intervals I would likely have had a better race. What made it so miserable? I simply could not keep my heart rate in a reasonable range. I was in the red zone every time I checked my heart rate. That meant that I had to pull back to a walk in order to try to recover. And since it was an event, I didn’t give myself enough time to properly recover. The result: an uncomfortable 8K where I felt out of my element, old (I had just turned 60 a few days before), and out of shape.

I came in 61/68 running the 8K, with a time of 1:08:59. I have run much faster 10Ks. Overall, the race was hard and I felt discouraged by it. Still and all, I covered the ground, so that’s something. On a positive note, the event had a great vibe and the folks at Persistence Racing plotted out a well-marked course on a relatively easy wooded trail, nicely groomed, with few hills. I would love to go back some time this fall when the leaves are changing.

Last week Sam referenced a 2020 post she wrote about aging and keeping up your speed. Even though I commented on Sam’s older post that my objective these days is just to get out there, I would be lying if I said my time didn’t sting a bit. I’ve never been fast, but I’ve also never been slower than I am now. Resounding in my head are the words from Sam’s 2020 post: “Older athletes get slower and less strong, not because they’re older, but rather because they train less than younger athletes.”

I am definitely training less than I did when I was 50. That’s why I couldn’t keep my heart rate under control. It has nothing to do with my age and everything to do with how I prepared (or did not adequately prepare) for the 8K trail event.

As a result of all of this, I have embarked on a plan to actually recapture some joy in my fall running, whether on trails or not. That plan includes some coached runs using the (free) Nike Run Club app. So far, the two runs I’ve done from the app (“First Run” and “Next Run”) have helped me connect with how good it feels to run with ease. I like the approach of setting out to run with a purpose, even if that purpose is a slow recovery run where you are not pushing too hard.

I’ll report back about the NRC experience in a month or so. Meanwhile, if you get a chance to enjoy some autumn weather out on the trails, go for it!

cycling · fitness · race report · racing · running · swimming · triathalon

IRONMAN Women’s World Championship (Guest Post)

maclachlancheryls

After a busy season of racing plenty of IRONMAN races in 2023, I was super excited to receive an email inviting me to compete at Worlds in Nice, France this year (based on IRONMAN’s “All World Athlete” age group ranking/points system). The following is a detailed recap of the day, which was September 22!

Swim 🏊‍♀️

After months of anticipation, training and nerves, as we hopped into the water to wait for the start, I felt surprisingly calm. Making it to the start line of a big race is an accomplishment in and of itself, let alone a world championship race on another continent! ✈️

I started the day anxious to get going, but reminded myself there’s literally nothing I’d rather be doing than an IRONMAN. Lifeguards and fellow triathletes to share the swim with, a beautiful bike course with professional photographers along the way and a marathon run with ample cheerleaders and “buffet stations” every couple of kilometers? Nothing to worry about except getting myself across that line? There’s nothing better than race day! 🎉

Though I felt pretty calm, the same can’t be said for the water of the Mediterranean Sea. Still a deep and beautiful blue, we had our first taste of what I’d call the day’s moody (but totally welcome!) weather in the swim. 🌊 I’d done some practice swimming but never too far from shore, so I wasn’t sure if the swells were par for the course or a special race day treat. At any rate, I loved the challenge! I could sight the buoys, for the most part. There were no jellies. 🪼 I started a bit back and it took me a while to find feet, but I liked the way the 3.8km were split up into an M shape. As the first age group to go, we had the course to ourselves! When things are rough in a swim, I tell myself that I’m lucky because I, for the most part, can think of a rough swim like a mosh pit and y’all know how I feel about that! 🤘🏼

I wrote before about how I felt like the pressure was off for this race. In all honesty, nobody really puts pressure on an age grouper the way we put it on ourselves. Entering this race, I didn’t look at my previous stats. This meant I wasn’t sure if I’d swam better or worse than my previous best, which I came close to but not quite on the day! The win for me—and the reason I was smiling—was that I really felt I’d done my best and done it with the positive attitude I knew I’d need going into the bike. 🥹

Bike

If you know me, you know I love biking. 💕🚲 That being said, seven hours is a long time to do anything, even if you love it! My game plan was to ride smart—pace myself through the climbing in the first 100k and make sure I fueled and kept in mind that I had a marathon to run yet. My coach said I could put out a bit of extra power on the climbs but to be honest, I mostly spun and enjoyed the scenery. ⛰️

I’d be lying if I said I paced the bike so well that the entire 180k was sunshine and roses. My neck hurt, I had a headache, I nearly missed bike special needs and the wind in the portion of the course after 100k that was described to me as “like a normal IRONMAN course” was incessant. But just as I was riding into that headwind, wondering how much of a refund I could get for my 2025 IRONMAN Lake Placid registration, we came to the most beautiful descent of the day. Just like that, I was back to loving biking again. 😂 I’d worried about it being busy or sketchy on the descents but the course was well-marked and the women I rode near were solid. I had tears in my eyes when this photo was taken because I was overwhelmed by the beauty of it all! 🥹 The gratitude I have for the places biking and endurance sports have taken me keeps growing. From what started as a love of spin classes that led to buying my first road bike ~15 years ago, it’s been quite the ride! ✨ In what felt like no time, I was back on the promenade, contemplating that marathon next on my to-do list.

PS Not only was I grateful to have my bike, which arrived a day and a half after I did, but man was I grateful for my disc brakes on the descents, the extra gears I added for this race on the climbs and my aero bars in that midride wind. 🫶🏼🚲🫶🏼 Also, a highlight I need to share was being able to call out my bib number en francais at the special needs stop with success. 🥐

Run

They’re all tough.

Last year in Kona, I found the run mentally hard, running to a turnaround at ~30km. In Nice, the marathon’s entirely along the flat, seaside Promenade des Anglais, involving four trips to the airport (~5k out/5k back). My other IRONMANs had 2-loop runs with variation, so I wasn’t sure what I’d make of Nice. I hoped I’d appreciate the flat ground and cheering, but wasn’t naive enough to think it would be “easy”.

I have a feeling if I asked a bunch of triathletes which course they prefer, they’d be split. They’d also likely complain about both. My goal is to stay away from that. I loved the energy from spectators, seeing Brent and my Tres Pinas peeps multiple times. I was also able to break it into obvious chunks. The 1st lap, I planned to go for a jog and keep my HR low. ♥️ The 2nd lap, I’d spin my hat around (channeling my athletic alter ego who doesn’t get tired and loves competing) and settle in. The 3rd lap, I’d add cola 🥤and walk the aid stations. The 4th lap, when the sun would be just about set, I planned to push to the finish line.

For the most part, this worked out. By the end of the 3rd lap, though, I had some cramping (the stomach kind and in one calf and then the other), so picking it up didn’t really happen. I had a buffer to come in under 13 hours, a pretty arbitrary target but one that motivated me. I was pleasantly surprised at how little I felt my nagging niggles and was mostly able to fuel throughout. It really was my legs that ran out of steam, and no wonder after that bike! Seeing people head to the finish line as I started another lap was hard, but people just coming off the bike were reminders we all wish we were in someone else’s (faster) shoes. The run out on the 4th lap felt longggg, but on the way back, “finally” heading towards the finish line, I dedicated a km to Brent (I couldn’t have done this without him!) and one to the memory of my mom to move me forward. I got “finish line feels” early on and felt some big emotions in that dark finish chute. IRONMAN marathons may always be tough, but that’s what makes that red carpet so meaningful. 💪🏼

Final Thoughts

A week after the race, home and almost over the jet lag, it all feels a bit like a dream. In previous races, I’ve raced immediately to focusing on what I could do better. With this race, I felt surprisingly content. I loved racing in France, sharing the course with an amazing field of women and taking on a challenging bike that I knew would mean I’d likely have a slower finishing time than my most recent races. I’m still remembering and reflecting on the experience each day but am heading into this offseason with a big sense of accomplishment and gratitude!

STEPHEN_COX_PHOTO
challenge · race report · swimming

Am I water? Bettina finds out

bettinathenomad6 Comments

As I mentioned in my previous post, in which I dipped my toes into triathlon, my “big event” of the year was still to come. In a fit of optimism, possibly buoyed by the exhilaration of having signed up for a triathlon (signing up for stuff feels good to me), early this year I’d signed up for a 4.5k open water swimming race.

A week before my 40th birthday, on 1 September, it was time. The race took place in Lake Chiemsee, in southern Bavaria, in view of the Alps. It’s a beautiful panorama. The way the race works is that they ferry swimmers out to an island and then you swim back to shore, pretty much in a straight line. Like this:

Map of Lake Chiemsee with the island we started from circled in red and an arrow pointing towards the finish of the race.

We’d decided to make a family trip out of it, leaving on Saturday morning to make the drive down in a leisurely fashion, staying overnight, and driving home after the race on Sunday. We stayed at a lovely hotel with its own jetty and SUP boards for rent, which unfortunately we didn’t have time to use. The evening before the race, I’d arranged to meet up via Facebook with a few other people swimming the next day. But first, I had to pick up my starter kit. At the location, the main sponsor had put up a fun “I am water” backdrop, which I posed with, even though I wasn’t feeling quite sure about my aquaticness at that point.

Picture of Bettina in a white t-shirt and denim shorts, posing in front of a backdrop showing a person swimming butterfly and the words “I am water”.

I’d known the nerves would come, and the pre-race meet-up with other participants was part of my tactic to calm myself down. This was my first big open-water event and I do get impostor syndrome quite a bit. I was really glad I’d made this dinner arrangement. Not only did we have a delicious dinner in a traditional beer garden with a playground right next to our table for our 4 year-old to explore, but I also got to pick more experienced swimmers’ brains. They all assured me I’d be just fine and had signed up for a beautiful race. And wow, had I ever! Race morning came with beautiful sunshine, the perfect temperature, and no waves at all.

Panoramic view of a very calm lake with the Alps in the background. In the foreground is the finishing chute marked by yellow buoys and lines to the left, and a small child (Bettina’s son!) playing on the beach to the right.

There was a short safety briefing with an explanation of what would happen next, and off we were, all 270-ish of us, to the boat that would take us to the island. En route, I met a nice English guy (hey, Tom!) whose wife is from the region and he’d decided to give it a go while they were on holiday in the area. We chatted as we made the short crossing to the starting point, he kindly shared his vaseline to prevent wetsuit chafing, which I’d forgotten to bring, and I munched an energy bar and drank some of my sports drink.

And then… we were off! Since the water temperature was so perfect and the lake so calm, it didn’t take me a very long time to settle into a comfortable breathing rhythm. And even though there were a lot of us, there was none of the kicking and swimming over each other I’d been dreading, considering it was a mass start. It went great and I ended up losing track of how many buoys I’d passed after a while, I just kept going. Every once in a while I stopped for a split second to check I was well on track and, honestly, to admire the panorama – it was just stunning. Every 500 metres, they’d put a huge yellow buoy as a way marker so nobody got lost. There were also loads of lifeguards with paddle boards, kayaks and boats, so between them, the other swimmers, and the buoys, it was impossible to go wrong.

Towards the end, there was one section with a bit of a cold current and I was glad I’d decided to wear my wetsuit, also because I know that I tend to get cramps if I get too cold – this had happened to me a couple of times during my longer training swims in the outdoor pool.

Before I even knew it, I was swimming up to the finish chute! As I waded out of the water, I spotted my partner and son waving and shouting. I was so happy my son got to see his Mama do something big and challenging, and above all, having fun! It’s the way I’d love for him to approach sports and movement as he grows up. I wasn’t in it to win it – I was in it to enjoy it, try something new, and challenge myself.

Bettina, wearing a bright pink race cap, swimming goggles, and a long-sleeved wetsuit, crossing the finishing line after getting out of the water. A large digital clock in the background reads 1:30:07.

In the end, I was super happy with my final time of 1:30:08. I came 8th in my age group, which wasn’t bad at all! I definitely want to do this again. Next year, the same race will take place on my actual birthday, which is kind of a sign, but I’m also still considering other options – maybe a different lake! What started as my personal challenge the year I turned 40 has opened up a new path that I’m super excited to keep exploring.

race report · triathalon

Bettina tries tri

bettinathenomad2 Comments

I’m certainly not the first fit feminist to do a triathlon – just picking the “triathlon” category on previous posts yields over 60 results. And some of them are very badass! I’ve been wanting to do a tri for a while now. In fact, in 2019 my partner gave me two books on training for a triathlon for Christmas. What did I give him? I don’t remember his “real” present, but on top of that… a positive pregnancy test. Our son was born in August 2020, amidst a pandemic, and triathlons were really not on the cards for a bit. Life was just too busy! But then early this year, a friend convinced me to sign up for a sprint tri with her. 750m swimming, 22km cycling and 5k running seemed manageable.

To be honest, I didn’t train all that much. As a swimmer “by training”, the discipline many triathletes fear the most didn’t scare me. I had a bit of a wobble when I found out the swim would be in a river rather than a pool (many sprint triathlons do the swimming leg in a pool), but hey – no time like the present to rekindle my open-water swimming skills from those beach lifeguard days 20 years ago, right? I did manage to get a few lake swims in, but for example I never once managed a “proper” brick workout, where you bike first and then run right away.

I’m also… not the world’s best runner. I can get better, as I discovered on my journey to the half marathon that never was, but I need to train very consistently and frequently. I already go swimming at least once a week, usually twice, and commute a lot by bike. But squeezing those runs in on a busy work and family schedule was a real challenge. Also, during the winter months, we were sick a lot (thanks, daycare germs). So by the time the race snuck up on me, I was feeling under-prepared and quite intimidated by the logistics of it all. I was pretty sure I’d forget something in the transition and start cycling without my shoes on, or forget to put on my helmet, or fall flat on my face while trying to wiggle out of my wetsuit. I jest, but when you read the race instructions and watch videos, it does all seem like rather a lot.

Bettina, a white woman, wearing cycling gear and pushing a bike while blowing a kiss to spectators.
Bettina, dressed in full cycling gear after the first transition (aka T1) from swim to bike, blows a kiss to her family who came out as spectators and were spectacular cheerleaders.

The thing I was most scared of was wiping out during the run. “It’s only 5k!”, my training partner (who is quite a bit more athletic than me) encouraged me. But 5k, for me, after 20k of cycling fast and hard, seemed terrifying. My longest training run had been 7k.

Well, the race happened last week – and you know what? I had So. Much. Fun!!! My favourite part was the swim for sure. As soon as I went in, I kept repeating to myself “This is your thing. This is what you’re good at” to calm my nerves and get motivated. As soon as I settled into a rhythm I started passing other swimmers, and felt great coming out of the water. The bike leg was fun too, except a couple of extremely steep (but mercifully short) hills. As expected, I found the run the hardest and was extremely grateful for the drinks station halfway through. But I finished! And contrary to all expectations, I didn’t expire on the run. I actually ran quite an ok time for my standards. Not my best but definitely better than expected!

Bettina, looking exhausted and a bit disheveled, but very happy, bites her finisher medal after the triathlon.

I definitely want to do this again. I think if I start training earlier and stay consistent (hoping for fewer daycare-induced colds for our family next season), I just might be able to do an olympic distance tri next year. I definitely need to train more systematically for that, and it might not work out. But I’d love to give it a go!

Lessons learned?

  • I can do this!
  • It was fun!
  • I want to do it again, and for longer!
  • If I want to do a longer distance, I need to train more seriously.
  • I should probably do something about my bike (learn to ride with clipless pedals, put on thinner tyres, get aero bars).
  • I should probably get a tri suit. I bought tri shorts but the bike jersey I wore for the bike and run was not optimal for running as it kept riding up.
  • Triathlons are expensive… whichever way you slice it. I bought minimal gear (wetsuit, polarised swimming goggles, a safety buoy for training, all of which which I will continue to use, tri shorts, and one of those elastic race bib holders), plus the registration fee, and adding it all up I’m now probably around more than 300 euros poorer than before. If I want to do a longer one, all the aforementioned enhancements to gear and bike will cost even more.
  • Triathlons are as time-intensive as I thought, if not more.
  • Being able to do a triathlon is a huge privilege.

I’m so glad my fit friend pushed me into this challenge – I’m not sure I would have worked up the courage on my own. Now that I’ve taken the first hurdle, doing a longer distance doesn’t seem quite so out of reach anymore. But first, I have another goal: I’ve signed up for a 4.5k open water swimming race on 1 September, so before I start tri-ing again, I’ll need to do a serious amount of swimming… once I’m over my current cold (little children really are super spreaders, and they will sneeze straight into your eyeballs, literally).

fitness · race report · running

Thorn/Rose: or, Around the Bay, 2024

Sam B2 Comments

by Alison Conway

Is there anyone getting ready for a race who isn’t a bit of a control freak? You may be out there, but my guess is that most of us have lists of gear and race plans that we review in the days leading up to an event; we check and double check our kit the night before; we go over various contingencies in our minds; we formulate back-up plans in case of a disaster.  All this so that the wheels don’t fall off the bus on race day.

It was a bit strange, then, to find myself at an event last weekend where the wheels seemed to be falling off the bus—not my bus, however, but that of the event itself. It began when the race directors of Around the Bay announced, sometime in the winter, that the course had grown from 30 km to 34 km, due to unforeseen circumstances. There would be two finish lines and two finish times for us all, with winners in both groups. I had signed up for the 30k race as an opportunity to re-do my first ATB attempt in 2017 when I failed to take warnings about the hills in the back 10 km seriously and had to live with the consequences. This year, I would beat that 30 km time. The last four kilometres would have to take care of themselves—I wasn’t racing them. Still, it felt a little weird. Two finishes? And, gutted after 30 km, how long would it take me to get to my banana and warm clothing?

The night before the race, we received another notice: a sinkhole had opened along the route, and now we would be running 35.4 km. I mean, really? I felt sorry for the race directors, but I also felt sorry for myself:  it was a weekend of freezing temperatures and those last kilometres were going to be cold and miserable, for sure. I tried not to think about it as we made our way to Hamilton the next morning. It was sunny and I was ready to race.  

But at the stadium, things were chaotic. No one was around for the bag check, so we bundled our belongings into plastic bags and threw them behind a table. At the start, I tried to find my way to Corral D, but couldn’t see any signage for it. My pace rabbits were up at the front, so I made my way to them and talked strategy: they were aiming for a steady pace for the first 20 km, with a bit of time in reserve for the hills. This was the plan. Almost as soon as we started, one of the rabbits disappeared, presumably for a pit stop, and then reappeared a couple of kilometres later.  He pushed the pace and then vanished over the horizon.  The group gamely pressed on with his partner, along the lake and through the rollers. I felt terrific as we crested Heartbreak Hill:  on pace and ready for the final three km to the 30 km finish line. Suddenly my rabbit accelerated, leaving me behind. What? And then a kilometre marker appeared—it said one thing, but my watch said I was almost full kilometre farther along. I ran past the Grim Reaper, looking for markers. All I saw was kilometre signage for that day’s other races. Where the hell was I? Up another goddamned hill and looking for the 29 km marker, which never came. Or did it?  Suddenly a voice shouted, “You’re at 30!” I hit the mat and my watch clicked 30 km, right on time. Or was I?  

I thought that most runners would race the final kilometres to the stadium, but it seemed that most, like me, had raced their 30 and were done. I was frozen after a kilometre of making my way toward the second finish on wrecked legs. Suddenly a runner came up behind me, “Hey, Al!” It was Keelan, a young woman whose running I’ve admired since she was three years old, racing her brother down the street in front of my house.  She, too, had raced her 30 km, and my joy at her successful first ATB warmed my heart. But not my hands. We walk-jogged our way back to the stadium, weary and cold. 

Finally, I found myself in a warm room, with the friends who had driven to Hamilton with me. We were thrilled with our finishes—we hoped—as we waited for the results to be posted. My pace rabbit found me and apologized profusely. He thought he had lost a kilometre somewhere along the way and raced his group into the finish three minutes under the allotted pace time. What had happened out there?

And then another voice called out to me. I turned and said, “Juan!” Juan and I met in a race corral in London, UK, nine months ago. He was wearing an Ontario triathlon t-shirt that morning and I had introduced myself as a fellow Canadian. It was a lovely warm morning and we were both excited to be in London, ready to race through the streets of a magical city. What were the chances of his appearing, here, now, at the end of a race through a somewhat less magical city, where we had circled a sinkhole and frozen our butts off?

The excitement of seeing Juan again was all I needed to set things right, just then. The summer day we had enjoyed in July found its way to Hamilton and the wheels went back on the bus. Because, in the final instance, life is about chances and being thrown for a loop. The same orbital drift that opened the sinkhole and placed the kilometre markers god knows where brought Keelan and Juan to me just when I needed them most, to make the world merry and bright after a long race on a cold morning.

Alison with racing pal Juan Varela
Alison with racing pal Keelan McGoey

Alison Conway lives and works in Kelowna, British Columbia, on the traditional and unceded territory of the Syilx Okanagan people.

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 · race report · racing · running

On the Beauty of the Pace Rabbit

Sam B1 Comment

By Alison Conway

For Jamie

Last Sunday, I ran my first Half Marathon in thirty-nine months. I was very, very nervous: it had been a long time since I tried to hold any kind of race pace for more than 10 km. I decided I would put my trust in the Pace Rabbits holding the 1:50 sign. Usually I’m not a fan—I don’t like the crowd around the Rabbits and want my watch to set the pace, not theirs. But this time out, I wanted to avoid looking at my watch, to run by feel and just hold steady.

Immediately, I liked my Rabbits. They made the pace feel effortless and the woman’s strong legs had an easy cadence. They were great on the hills—“We’re going to run this together”—and good at negotiating water stations. They didn’t talk too much. I kept my eye on the dark pony tail in front of me and remembered to breath. I thought about how the race might feel for the Rabbits. Presumably, the pace was not demanding for them, but they had to hold those signs and check the times written on their arms and compare their watches while making encouraging noises to the small pack behind them. They had given up a race day of their own to make someone else’s day better.

After the race, I thanked them. And then I suddenly realized that I knew the woman from Before Times. Before Covid cancelled Boston, before an injury robbed me of hope, for a while, and eighteen months of running, there had been a woman at races in Kelowna who ran ahead of me. I had tried to catch her but never could. She was training as a massage therapist and spent two years in my valley before returning to her home town. We had talked. And now, here she was: Jamie Komadina.

To say that it felt miraculous to have the past meet the present on the streets of Vancouver is to understate how comforted I was to see Jamie’s face again. She told me about her recent Boston marathon odyssey l (travel horrors, a sudden flu, and the miracle of making it to the start line) and how she hoped to run it again. “Boston 2025!” And there it was: the future. With strong legs and an easy cadence.

We all should have a Pace Rabbit in our lives. Someone who makes the hard things easier, who gives up time in the limelight so that others can have theirs. Someone who opens the door to the future and says, “Look!”

We all should have a Pace Rabbit in our lives, so that we can learn to be one in turn.

Photo description: Alison and her Pace Rabbit, Jamie Komadina, at the finish line of the BMO Vancouver Half Marathon.

Alison Conway works and runs in Kelowna, BC.

fall · fitness · fun · race report · running

Tracy’s first running event since 2019!

Tracy I1 Comment

After more than three years of not doing anything “official,” I signed up for a 5K and ran it last weekend. And it was a blast. A few of my running group did it too. None of us went in with big dreams and all of us had a fun time.

Image description: Six runners, arms linked, some with race bibs, five wearing medals around their necks, smiling, start line and fall foliage in the background.

Considering that my last event was the Around the Bay 30K back in 2019 (see my overly optimistic report of that ill-fated day here — it was ill-fated because the next day I had a back injury and shortly after that I had achilles issues and basically I didn’t run much again for about nine months), the 5K felt like an odd choice. Not because there is anything wrong with 5K, but because it isn’t a distance that I needed to train for since I run more than that regularly (our Sunday minimum is usually around 7.5 and we often do more than that). I’ve never done an event that I haven’t had to train for.

I also had difficulty deciding what my goal should be. I really haven’t gotten back on track with any regular routine since the ATB in 2019, and when I go out I go out for fun, not for fast results. So I decided that my goal would be to come in under 40 minutes. That might seem like an unchallenging goal to some, but I wanted something that I could actually meet. Indeed, a friend who hasn’t run since she was in her thirties literally laughed at me when I stated that goal, as if it was ridiculously easy.

On race day I felt good. It was a gorgeous autumn day and we met just over 1K from the start line and ran there as a little warm-up. Unlike events in the past, I didn’t need to concern myself with whether I could make the distance. I decided I would stick to my usual 10-1 intervals that I do every Sunday.

In the end, most of my group broke away from me within the first 500m, with one falling into place a little bit behind. I didn’t end up wanting to walk for the one-minute walking intervals, and I was pacing reasonably well all things considered. My chip-time was 35:19 and I felt strong–only mildly regretting that I hadn’t pushed just a little bit harder to come in under 35 minutes. In any case, it gave me a new goal for my sixtieth birthday, which is to try to shave a few minutes off of my 5K time and perhaps even complete it in 30:00. It was also a fun time for the group, all of whom were smiling at the end, as you can see in our photo.

If there is a moral to this story, it’s that going back to something I used to do, and keeping my expectations very low, can actually feel really good. Have you returned to something that you’d set aside? If so, I’d love to hear about your experience in the comments.