Category: running

No Surrender: Dancing with Resistance and Acceptance as I Approach a New Decade
aging · challenge · femalestrength · motivation · running · Science · technology

No Surrender: Dancing with Resistance and Acceptance as I Approach a New Decade

Mina5 Comments

Cognitive surrender is an essential new term that’s arisen to describe the abdication of our own reasoning to a machine that sounds fluent, confident, and authoritative. Studies are showing that when people interact with AI tools, they accept flawed reasoning at a startling level (almost 75% of the time). Not because they don’t have the capacity to reason better themselves. But because it is easier not to question. As a writer, it will likely come as no surprise that I’m leery of outsourcing. I worry about dulling not just my cognitive capacity, even more so my creativity.

And, yes, I have started working with AI tools, because I also think it’s important to understand what these machines are all about and how I might use them in an un-surrendered manner. I almost used the word collaborate in that last sentence, instead of use. I chose not to, because I’m not yet ready to acknowledge these machines as entities. That feels like surrender. This from someone who is more than willing to see trees as sentient beings well before reading Michael Pollan’s new book, A World Appears.

I am exploring the border between surrender and leveraging these cognitive machines to free my time for deeper engagement with the world. More akin to my vacuum cleaner than a friend.

I have been thinking a lot about surrender in my body, too. Every time I read an article about aging and activity, which tells me that I should move more gently, now that I’m on the verge of a new decade, a part of me growls protectively. Not yet.  

This physical version of surrender can be seductive. Messaging that encourages the little voices that say: I’m older now. Intensity is harder. Recovery is harder. Maybe I should just… let these things be harder. Be gentle with myself. Slow down. Stop. Lie down. The End. Okay—those last four are the hyperbole kicking in.The reasoning (without exaggeration) arrives fluently, confidently, with authority. And, as with AI reasoning, if I’m not careful, I might accept these blandishments about aging without interrogating the particularities of my own case.

I see the parallel this way: an authoritative-seeming signal in the form of an AI answer or an aging body; the availability of a path of least resistance; the ways that acceptance is not neutral, reshaping what we expect of ourselves and ultimately what we are actually capable of.

What the cognitive surrender research captures is that the problem isn’t using external tools. We humans have been off-loading cognitive tasks for a while now. Thank you, calculators. The red flag is what happens when we stop verifying. When silken reasoning substitutes for truth. When we accept not because we’ve evaluated, but because it’s so frictionless (and pleasant) to not expend the effort.

In the physical realm, adjusting our expectations as we age is not always surrender. Of course not. Surrender is unexamined acceptance.  Letting the message of limitation go unchallenged. Sliding past the effort of finding out just what we are still capable of.  

I turn 60 this year. I’d like to say I feel easy, breezy about that. I don’t. I’m in search of the right balance of grace and grit. I have set myself the goal of running a half marathon (21 kilometers or 13.1 miles) every month. Twelve months, twelve runs (among all the other runs I will do). When I was younger, that distance was a regular sized effort. Last year, I did not run that distance even once. And my year culminated in foot surgery in late November (which I wrote about here).

The decision has an element of stubbornness, to be sure. I am a Taurus, after all. On New Year’s Day, I started the year running 21k with my brother on mountain trails. I had a genuine concern that I would not run the whole distance. It took a while. I got it done. I was inspired. And so, this challenge. As I write this, four 21k are done. Eight to go.

I hear the voices that tell me: You’re not built for this anymore. I’m checking their veracity. They might be right. I might not be up for the challenge. I want to be gentle with myself, if I’m not. This is not about punishment. It’s about exaltation. The joy of discovering, each month, that I still have the capacity.

When I was a child, my mother always made us take the stairs. I remember glancing longingly at elevators as we passed them by. Now I live on the eighth floor, and I take the stairs almost every time I leave or come home. Not always. I’m realistic, not rigid. Not because I’m proving something. Because the habit of not surrendering has become its own kind of instinct. My mother was training something in me: the reflex to push gently against the available convenience, to stay curious about what I might actually be capable of.

The AI researchers found that people with higher fluid IQ scores were more likely to maintain their own judgment under pressure. I do not claim any extra intelligence. I think gentle resistance is more about habit. The habit of fact checking.

This is what I want to hold onto as I run my way through this year, one half marathon at a time. Not the delusion that there no limits that come with age. I have plenty. Instead, I want to cultivate the discipline of inquiry, to distinguish real limits from the limits that are presented with confidence, waiting for me to accept them without scrutiny.

My body, like a large language model, will tell me what it thinks I want to hear in smooth and reasonable tones. Rest. Take the elevator. Watch Netflix.

Sometimes my body is right. And I will be dancing with surrender and resistance, until I find the choreography that leads to graceful, gritty acceptance.

Getting back to it…again
fitness · motivation · planning · running

Getting back to it…again

Tracy I1 Comment
A graphic featuring the text '5K' alongside an icon of a person running, set against a yellow background.

I’m probably not alone in having stops and starts in my fitness routines. My favourite themes over the years have been about starting small, doing less, getting over injuries with small steps. And that’s where I am again after deciding that I would not participate in winter running this year. It’s been a long winter. I got out there today after a four-month hiatus.

Since I’ve never really managed to stick with a consistent running routine for more than a few months at a time since just before the pandemic, I feel as if I am starting at the beginning.

Today was the first nice day of nice spring running weather, where I could run in shorts and a t-shirt. And so I chose it to be my day one of the beginners running program, Couch to 5K.

Couch to 5K is probably the most widely used learn to run app. It’s a nine-week program designed to get someone from not running at all to running for 30 continuous minutes over the course of three runs a week for nine weeks.

It starts easy and that is just what I want after a long hiatus. Week one has three runs the same: 5 minutes warm up walk, and then 8 intervals of 1 minute of running followed by 1 1/2 minutes of walking, and closing out with a 5 minute walk.

I’m going in with beginners mind because despite having many kilometres under my feet, I feel like a newbie. And I’m open to learning something new about what I can do and how I can do it.

I have let go of what I “used to be able to do,” and am focusing on what I can do today.

Will report back at the end of April!

Running a Marathon—Or, the Problem of Ambition
competition · fitness · racing · running

Running a Marathon—Or, the Problem of Ambition

alisonconway652 Comments

And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?” Talking Heads, “Once in a Lifetime”

Recently, I posted here about the inner critic who reminds me not to want too much—a donut, say, or a marathon finish. A friend asked about the donut/marathon analogy. Surely, she said, a marathon involves too much suffering to count as self-indulgence.

Which got me thinking about the problem of women and “too much.” In her excellent book, Monsters, Claire Dederer tackles the question directly, linking it to the problem of women owning their ambition. She recounts a male friend telling her about his very important book, a description Dederer goes on to quote for laughs when describing her own work to others. And then Dederer asks, “But, really, what’s so funny about saying your life’s work is important?” She goes on: “Ambition and self-confidence are all bound up together. Ambition is the thing that men have. …It turns out that this is not such an easy word, for women.”

To say, as a woman, “I am ambitious,” is to invite a range of responses, most immediately: “Who do you think you are?” Where, for men, being ambitious might simply signal a desire to do well in a chosen profession or to pursue a goal outside of work that involves challenges and determination, for women, it’s more like naming a character flaw. “Look at me, I am a selfish person. I am willing to make other people suffer so that I can succeed. Because if I’m thinking about myself, I’m not thinking about everyone else.”

Which brings us to the marathon. Ten years ago this month, I bought my first pair of trainers—that is, running shoes for running–in thirty years. I was shopping for a pair of runners for my daughter, home from university for the holidays, and they had a “buy one, get the second pair 50% off” deal on. I decided on my goal right there in the store: to run 5 km. Looking back, this was actually quite a large ambition, because it broke a pattern of twenty years, which involved not taking seriously exercise of any kind. I know there are amazing women out there running marathons in between domestic and work shifts. Me–I would have lost my mind if there had been one more item on my to-do list while I raised two kids and held down a job. But, at fifty, I had more time available. With my new sneakers on, I reclaimed my love of running. And then I wanted it all—the shoes, the watch, the sun glasses, and, a couple of years later, the marathon.

A marathoner cannot hide her ambition. She devotes hours to training. She goes to bed early. She frets, she obsesses, she consults with other runners, she joins a club. She has a plan. She has a goal. She needs to get to the start line uninjured, and then she needs to finish what she’s started.

There’s no pretending that you’re heading out for a jog around the block.

A few weeks ago, as my nephew and I stared down marathons we were about to run, I messaged him, “Remind me again why we sign up for this?” And he replied, “Because sometimes you have to do hard things!” That’s how I define ambition—it’s the desire to do hard things. It can be writing a book, it can be running a marathon, it can be trying something strange or unsettling—like therapy, or not drinking. You slog through the muck of feelings and effort. You quiet the voice that tells you to let it go, that it’s too much.  You do the work because you’ve set yourself the task.

Ambition implies forward movement and that can create problems when we don’t allow ourselves to stop or slow down. I hope I can set ambition aside when it isn’t helping me. I’m looking forward to retirement, when I can let go of the ambition I’ve attached to my job. But I have miles to go before I sleep, and I look forward to pursuing new goals.

And you?

fitness · health · racing · running · self care · training

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

Sam B



By Alison Conway

A weary Alison crosses the finish line of the 2024 NYC Marathon

You can run, but you can’t hide—at least, not forever. Those demons that are chasing you? They will catch you eventually. One morning, injured or simply exhausted, you will wake up to find them sitting on your chest. Or, in the middle of a race, you may feel them jumping on your back, happy to catch a ride.

I’m talking, of course, about the demons of anxiety and depression or whatever other monsters might lurk in the deep recesses of your mind. Last week, Alex Hutchinson wrote a column in the Globe and Mail in which he reviewed findings about the links between exercise and mental wellness (12/2/24). It’s not news to those of us who feel lousy when we miss a run that a regular boost of dopamine is a good idea. But what happens when we look at the issue through the other end of the telescope? That is, what happens when we play the tape–that sport is therapy–to the end?


Jill Colangelo answers this question in a recent episode of Running Explained (Season 2, Episode 40). In her discussion of overtraining syndrome, she looks at the relationship that endurance athletes develop with their training programs and how increases in training volume correlate with higher, rather than lower, rates of mental illness. Is it cause or effect? Someone who is looking to cope with troubling thoughts may seek the solace of the runner’s high, or she may start to experience dread or anxiety about performance. Warning signs will begin to manifest in the body, and without an acceptance that sport is hurting, rather than helping, and that a recovery program, including therapy, may be in order, the athlete can find herself confronted with a full-blown breakdown. In this scenario, cortisol, not dopamine, is the drug coursing through the body.


Colangelo advocates for a deepened respect for the body and the signals it sends. Recently, I learned this lesson the hard way when I found myself in trouble 17 km into a marathon—not even half way! In the weeks leading up to the race, there were red flags. I had a summer injury that meant my build began a month late. I didn’t have enough long runs under my belt and not nearly enough hills for the gruelling course. More significantly, I had been dealing with stress all fall and it had given my body a beating. Sleepless nights made for lousy morning runs. My physio suggested that a weekend of back spasms was stress induced. The week of the marathon, I had stabbing chest pain. It wasn’t on my left side, so I assumed I wasn’t having a heart attack. But I was having a something. (It felt like a cracked rib. Later, when I told this to my doctor, he said, “Please, don’t run a marathon with chest pain without medical clearance!” I record his remark here as a PSA.)


November 3rd dawned bright, sunny, and cool. It was a perfect day for a marathon. The pain in my chest was there, but isolated to one spot. And so, I set out to race that course. What was I thinking? I was thinking, “The marathon is my happy place!” I was thinking, “My spring training will compensate for my crappy build!” I was thinking, “That half marathon six weeks ago felt great!” The marathon answered, “I take no prisoners.”

And so, I suffered. All the voices in my head formed a chorus of negative self-talk to make the final hour of that marathon perhaps the most hellish sixty minutes I’ve experienced as a runner. Somehow, I got myself to the finish line. When I finally found my people, I burst into tears of rage, pain, and disappointment.

And now? Now, I’ve had a chance to get over myself and remember that plenty of folks find themselves having a crap marathon for any number of reasons. I have also learned that when the body tells me it’s struggling, as I train, I had better listen closely and adjust my expectations.

Most immediately, it’s time to turn and face those demons.

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

When Can I Be Awesome?
celebration · challenge · femalestrength · running

When Can I Be Awesome?

Mina2 Comments

A few weeks ago, I ran rim to rim in the Grand Canyon. The effort was a moment to remind myself of the strength of my spirit after a period of enormous loss, chaos and instability, including health setbacks. As I ran from the night into the dazzling first drops of sun gilding the tops of the cliffs, the dawning day called me back in to myself. 

My youngest brother, Noah, proposed the adventure. His goal was to run rim to rim to rim (R3)—across the canyon and back again. My goal was rim to rim. I would accompany him for the first half of his effort.

It had been more than a decade since my last ultra run. Yes, I know, technically, rim to rim is not ultra, because it is not longer than a marathon. That said, those 21 miles are challenging. I underprepared. By a lot. One month out, I broke my toe.  I wasn’t sure I could even join my brother for the first steps. A few days before we were set to leave, I was fretting about my lack of training, when the universe delivered me a lightning bolt of clarity. You know how to do this. In that moment, I felt a fizz of recognition, the running was the least of it. To be prepared was to believe in myself. I could give the rest over to the universe. I felt a sudden sense of being anchored. I know how to do this. I’ve done ultra runs before. The experience is inscribed in my cells. Yes, in the past I have always trained. A lot. And that wasn’t an option this time, so I will run with what I do have. My knowing.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t suddenly think that I had the whole thing in the bag, and it would all be a dawdle. Not at all. Rather, it was an acceptance that I might well turn around and that would be okay, combined with a confidence that I could do it, if all else aligned (weather, health & sleep, being the three primary things that needed to be in alignment).

We started running at 4 a.m. Descending 4500 feet. In the pitch dark. For more than 2 hours.

At one point, my headlamp caught a lone, bare tree, which looked like a staging of Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot.  I thought about Didi and Gogo, near the end of the play, contemplating whether to hang themselves from the scrawny tree. A current of energy passed through me and a voice in my head said, I want to live. I want to stop waiting for something external to happen, to give me a reason. Life is happening now. This is it.

I relaxed into the pleasure of the run. We reached the bottom in the dark and began to make our way across. I’ve been down into the canyon twice before and come right back up. I had never traversed the canyon floor before. Never been hugged by the canyon walls, as I passed through the sometimes narrow, winding passage to the far rim. The light began to seep into the canyon, long before the first sunshine splashed over the highest rock faces. The North Rim loomed 5000 feet above. It didn’t seem possible that there was a trail leading up the sheer walls. And yet, there it was. Sometimes skinny and precipitous. Sometimes breathlessly steep. With views to astonish.

Tears prickled as I reached the top after 7 grueling hours. I was overcome with the full body pleasure of finishing. Despite all. I’m awesome. I thought. For a moment. Only to watch most runners who came after me turn around (as my brother did) and run back again to the South Rim.

I was so proud of my brother for achieving his desired goal. And, at the same time, all the runners out there covering twice as much distance as me that day made me question my own sense of accomplishment. I only did … I made a halfway effort. In our world of increasingly extreme efforts, in our world where people are routinely pushing their bodies to the very edge of their human limits, what counts? What is enough? What am I allowed to be proud of? Wait a minute, who is doing this allowing? Why can’t I allow myself to be awesome?

And then on the Thursday after the Grand Canyon, I read these words from David Whyte (from his book Consolations. Words I had read before, which took on new resonance: “…taking a new step always begins from the central foundational core of the body, a body we have neglected, beginning well means seating ourselves in the body again, catching up with ourselves and the person we have become since last we tried to begin …”  I felt my first steps down the South Kaibab trail again and the intensity of everything that moment contained. The flood of memories of other physical challenges, like this run, that I’ve done in the past. All the ways in which my life and how I see myself have changed since then. All the doubts I was carrying into the canyon about my own capacity. Would my Addison’s Disease be a factor? The run was an opportunity to catch up with myself and the person I have become since last I tried to begin. I discovered a woman who is doing better than she thought. The light of resilience is seeping into her cells. Soon, the only-seemingly-insurmountable cliffs ahead will be painted gold and the trail will show itself. Step by step.

fitness · running · training

The power of a fresh start and new approach

Tracy I1 Comment
Tracy smiling, wearing sunglasses, cap covered with patterned buff for ear warmth, running jacket and top, with pathway, frost-covered grass, autumn trees, and a bench in the background.
Image description: Tracy smiling, wearing sunglasses, cap covered with patterned buff for ear warmth, running jacket and top, with pathway, frost-covered grass, autumn trees, and a bench in the background.

Pre-pandemic I got an Achilles injury that I didn’t give sufficient time to heal. As a result, it took me out of consistent running for about four years and some months. So from Spring 2019 to about a month ago, my running routine ranged from zero times a week to short periods of 2-3 times a week. Even when I ran more than my regular Sundays with the group (which I can no longer keep up with pace-wise), my schedule was haphazard and sporadic, unfocused and without a sense of purpose. Indeed, running became a source of stress rather than joy, a “have-to” rather than a “want-to.” That all culminated in a not-fun 8K trail race a few weekends ago.

The aftermath of the 8K presented itself to me as a decision-point in my running career: quit or change my approach. Though I felt discouraged enough to quit, I also had to be honest with myself that I had not prepared as well as I could have. I went in knowing I could cover 8K somehow or other, but I certainly had no reason to assume I’d have a strong performance that day. For five years I have been running without goals and not even a rough sense of routine. I have picked myself up and brushed myself off many times in my life after many different set-backs. And that is what I decided to do this time. I opted for a fresh start.

I had some criteria in mind for the fresh start. First of all, I was quite clear about my initial goal: to establish a running routine where I would get out the door three to four times a week. I wanted an app that had some training plans or coached runs, but it had to be free. Not initially free with in-app purchases, but truly free. Finally, it had to be realistic and motivating at the same time. After some searching around, I landed on the Nike Run Club. Apparently, it’s been going for years, but it was new to me.

The Nike Run Club (NRC) is an app that tracks your runs, which you can do your own way or by using the guided runs in their library. I installed the app the morning after the 8K trail race, determined to start afresh, as a beginner. The app has the perfect starter set of runs with their head coach, Coach Bennett. There are no hidden costs. You can do the starter program (or not) and then move on to other coached runs or training plans designed for 5K, 10K, half marathon, or marathon distances. All told, they have 289 guided runs in the collection. You can repeat any of them whenever you want. You can bookmark the ones you like so they’re easy to find again. They vary in type — including easy runs, speed runs and fartlek, long runs (over 30 minutes), short runs (under 30 minutes), runs based on distance, and “mindful runs” that partner with Headspace.

It is, as my decision to use it required, entirely free. Unlike other apps that I’ve used, which require a subscription, or bring you in for a free trial and then require a subscription, the entire NRC library is available from the beginning for free and remains so. I like that. There are also no ads or pop-ups. Yes, the Nike branding is all over it. But so far I haven’t felt as if there is any hard-sell going on. Now maybe that just means that their marketing team is super smart in reeling people in. But I’m finding it way less in-your-face than ads and pop-ups that I’ve seen on other platforms.

I also like that it interfaces with Spotify, where I have my running playlists (there is also an option for Apple Music). When the coaching is going on, the music fades into the background. When the coaching takes a break, the music comes back up to volume. They have suggested playlists or you can use whatever you are listening to on your Spotify.

The very day after the trail race, I got started with the First Run in the Get Started Collection of 9 runs: First Run, Next Run, First Speed Run, First Long Run, Next Speed Run, Third Run, First Fartlek Run, Next Long Run, Easy Run with Jes. Other than “Easy Run with Jes,” all of these are coached by Coach Bennett, the Nike Run Club Global Head Coach. He’s a light-hearted guy who is extremely motivating and I think he’s just great. I have done every one of those runs in the starter group, plus a few more. He has successfully inspired me in just one short month (the trail race was back on September 28) to get out there regularly, 3-4 times a week.

The First Run and the Next Run are 20 minutes and 22 minutes, respectively, and the whole point of them is to go easy. Really easy. Easier than you think you should go. He coaches for continuous running, and I didn’t think I could do it. But the day after my slog of an 8K trail race, I ran 20 minutes continuously. Yes, the pace was slow and the effort was easy. But that is how it was meant to be. The run was coached as a recovery run, with the goal of an enjoyable run at an easy pace. I did it and amazed myself enough to feel, for the first time in years, like I couldn’t wait to get back out there for my next run.

The same thing happened after the 22 minute run. Continuous running at an easy and enjoyable pace, with Coach Bennett along the way explaining that it’s okay to run easy, and also that we won’t always be running easy. I like the NRC approach, which is that running should be fun, not dreaded. I can also relate to what he says about the reason many runners don’t enjoy running is that they go out too fast and then can’t keep up with the pace they’ve set. That feels like a set-back. Instead, these runs are coached to go out slow.

The speed runs also include easy warm-ups followed by intervals at different effort levels, with a recovery pace in between. For example, the First Speed Run has a short warm-up at about a 3/10 effort, followed by 8×1 minute intervals at your “5K effort,” which is about a 7-8/10. I’m sure I’m still struggling to find my 5K effort and pace, but it was fun to push the pace, knowing it was only for a minute at a time and that a minute of easy running (not walking) would follow.

The long runs also start off easy and stay at a pretty relaxed effort, but they do pick up a bit. What I like is the whole idea of easing into a rhythm and stride, rather than flying out of the gate when my body isn’t warmed up yet. On Sunday I did 50 minutes of continuous running without taking a walk break, covering about 6.5K. It’s not my fastest ever, but it felt great. Most of all, I feel excited to get back out there next time for some speed work.

The message that is repeated a lot through these coached runs is that each run has a purpose. Easy runs are for running easy for recovery and enjoyment. Long runs are for building endurance (among other things). Speed work is for, obviously, building speed and becoming familiar with your different “gears.” And tempo runs are for sustaining a faster pace, not race pace but faster than a long run, over a set distance. I like that approach a lot because, as I said, my running was feeling aimless and without purpose before. I would just go out there and aim to cover the ground without any intentionality about pace or the point of it all. I have really appreciated the message that if you are running — especially in a long run or an easy run — at a pace where you can’t sustain it without stopping or feeling like you need to take a walk break, then you’re pushing too hard.

I learned in the Running Room system of 10-1 intervals (10 minutes of running followed by 1 minute of walking). I used to really look forward for the walk breaks. But I am much more enjoying running in a way that I don’t feel the need for a walk break. I can find my rhythm and not interrupt it. And over the course of the month my pace for the same effort is picking up.

So far the hardest coached run that I’ve done is the one called “Funky Fartlek,” where you aren’t told before a speed interval how long it will last. That one involved some intervals at efforts of 7, 8, and 9 out of ten. And I couldn’t sustain all the intervals without slowing down. I needed a couple of walk breaks that time. But that’s okay. I did it and it felt challenging. I’m starting to get a feel for my different gears. And mostly I am learning that except for my 9-effort, I can recover with a slower run interval instead of a walk interval.

The NRC approach won’t work for everyone but it is definitely working for me. Not everyone is going to want to do coached running. And if you do, not everyone will like Coach Bennett’s style (light and a bit cheesy, but overall likeable and motivating). There are of course other coaches, and I am sure I will encounter them eventually. I enjoyed the easy run with Jes. Finally, not everyone is going to like being encouraged to go easy on easy runs. I remember back when I was training for triathlon, I read a book called Run Less, Run Faster, by Bill Pierce, Scott Muir, and Ray Moss, and they said two things that really hit home.

The first thing they said that I had not heard before was that most runners do their distance runs at too hard an effort and too fast a pace. Until I read that I thought that it made sense to go out for Sunday long runs at the fastest pace I could sustain for the distance or time (assuming 10-1 intervals). If I was going to hold back at all, it was because unless I held back I wouldn’t make it to the end. I stuck with that mindset because that was what everyone else seemed to be doing. And especially when I was running with people, I had to do that to keep up.

The second thing they said was that every run should have a specific training purpose. According to their program, speed intervals (on a track), tempo runs, and long runs were the magic three. Their program, for anyone interested, is those three runs plus two cross-training cardio sessions a week.

At the time, when I first picked up the book, it didn’t motivate me. Looking back, I think it’s because, though the ideas of running with purpose and holding back effort on the long run were new and different, the book was really focused on performance. And of course it was — it was aimed at an audience of people who wanted to improve their times. Nothing fun about it.

What motivates me about the NRC is that it is aimed at an audience of people who want to enjoy running. They really encourage finding the fun in it. Maybe for the first time or maybe again. I’m happy to have discovered it because I have not enjoyed running at any point in my life as much as I have in the past month. I needed a fresh approach and that’s part of why I’m enjoying myself.

An out-of-town friend who also wanted to ease back into running jumped into the NRC with me a month ago and we motivate each other by checking in after each run. That too has helped me keep going. I’m enjoying the mutual encouragement and sense of accomplishment. It’s fun to share the joy.

That’s my story of a fresh start with a new approach. I went it as a beginner, taking up the “get started” program as if I was learning everything for the first time. I’m not sure if it will get me to a pace that I will once again be able to keep up with my running group. I guess we’ll see. Right now, I’m having fun, feeling excited about my running, and seeing some progress.

If you have a fresh start story I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

Running Through the Past to Renewal
running

Running Through the Past to Renewal

Mina3 Comments
View over Palisades Park in New Jersey from Fort Tryon Park

When I lost my relationship of more than 28 years, I also lost the extraordinary complicity of shared memories that is built over that much time. The way a we can hear three notes of a song and be transported into nine different times when they listened to that melody together. The way a we can walk by a restaurant that’s been six different restaurants and remember the first time they ate their together and all the meals in all its different iterations. The way a roadside rest stop can conjure a decade of drives to Vermont.

I am still too often surprised by a wave of grief, which washes through after an experience that hearkens back to a past that no longer exists in the same way, even as a memory. My ongoing divorce has not only radically changed how I live now; it has shattered the lens through which I look at my past, too. Joyful memories, comfortable memories, loving memories—they are all cast into doubt. Spoiled. Was what I lived real? And if it was, how did I lose my life?

Starting a few weeks ago, I have literally been running up against one such file folder of memories. In late August, I decided to run up to The Cloisters Museum and Fort Tryon Park in New York. From my old apartment, it was a 14-mile run, there and back. I’ve moved further north, and further east, so I wasn’t sure how much shorter the run would be. 3 miles shorter, it turns out. Which is just right for what I want to run now. I’ve done the run three times now, and I hope to do it again this week. Just because, I can. After everything (divorce, diagnosis and more), to feel alive and be able to run this route is joyous and comforting. Not only for the physical accomplishment, also for the view of the Palisades cliffs in New Jersey across the river and being on the grounds of the museum that was always my paternal grandparents’ first stop on their semi-annual road trip to New York from Regina, Saskatchewan. My grandmother had a particular love of the unicorn tapestries. Which is why it was also one of the last places I visited in New York with my father before he died, so that we could stand where his mother had stood so many times and feel her spirit. I don’t know if my father knew that his health was failing that day. He had a small growth on his face that he’d been ignoring, which turned out to be melanoma.

The first time I ran to the Cloisters was 30 years ago. There was no beautiful bike path up the west side to the little red lighthouse beneath the George Washington Bridge and what path there was by the river was sketchy and not something I’d run alone. The first time, I ran it with my ex and two other running friends, who have long since moved away. I’ve run it with many different friends over the years. At least once with one of my brothers on a crazy windy day. It’s a great tourist (who is also a runner) outing. And, of course, I ran it with my ex. Many times.

Until 2022, when my marriage started to fall apart, I had done that run every year, often many times (especially during marathon training). I didn’t do the run in 2022, nor in 2023. That was when I started to feel tired. So tired that that kind of distance moved out of reach. Deciding to do the run again, even if a shorter version, was a declaration of renewal.

I can still do this. Even if I’m alone and every step contains a memory. The super steep climb out of Riverside Park. The water fountain in Fort Tryon at the turnaround. The hill one of those OG running friends named, Where the Fuck Did This Come From? Because we’d run steadily up to get to the cloisters. So how was it possible that on our way back down, a few blocks east of where we’d climbed, we were running up yet another hill, which seemed impossible, geologically. Such is the variation in terrain a few blocks apart in Manhattan. And, as if to further taunt us, at the bottom of the hill named Where the Fuck Did This Come From? is a pharmacy called Hilltop Pharmacy. I never pass that corner without a bubble of inner bemusement. I wanted to share that bubble with you, here. To help build new neural pathways into my memories.

As I run, I am filled with a strong brew of melancholy and joy. Each time I trace this route, I carry with me all the iterations and all my companions. And I imagine my grandmother, walking in Fort Tryon Park, stretching her legs after a day of driving, thinking about that dying unicorn. And I remember walking the park paths with my parents. I contain my ancestors and all the girls and women I have been. I revel in the joy of being gifted another opportunity to make my way up to the cloisters on my own two legs.

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!

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Pain is just French for bread, an IRONMAN race report (Guest post)
competition · cycling · fitness · running · swimming · triathalon

Pain is just French for bread, an IRONMAN race report (Guest post)

Sam B3 Comments

by Cheryl MacLachlan

I went into IRONMAN World Championship in Nice, France knowing that the demanding bike ride might make my 5th IRONMAN my slowest, something I found strangely freeing. 🤷🏻‍♀️

While I was nervous, I found myself coming into the day with an approach opposite of what a lot of people would expect at a world championship. Rather than attempt to “leave it all out there”, I went in telling myself that I was just going for a little dip in the ocean and a toodle on my bike in the mountains, followed by an evening jog. 🏊‍♀️🚴‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️‍➡️

I had fun in the wavy ocean swim in my wetsuit.🤙🏼 I surprised even myself when I was able to hold onto that vibe even as plenty of women passed me on the bike, many huffing and puffing up the mountains on the bike course. I enjoyed passing some of them back on the descents, which were my favourite part of the day. 🔥 Then, I went into the run and did it my way. 🚂

Cheryl on the run leg of the IRONMAN in Nice

At times, I like to experiment and see what happens if I push and dare to blow up. I understand the desire to seek your limits, but in a race as long as an IRONMAN, sometimes that looks like holding yourself back—a skill that takes a lot of self-control and confidence. One of the things I’m most proud of in this sport is the ability to be consistent. This finish at 12:50:21 is in between my other finishing times and perhaps this is the race I feel I did the best job of staying positive and executing the way I wanted to. I strive to stay humble and of course there are things I can improve, but man this one feels good! Don’t worry, though, it still hurt. 🥖

I’m so grateful for how things came together, for everyone who wished me luck and tracked me, for @brent315 nailing his support duties and for the community of @teamtrespinas 💕🍍🫶🏼. Yesterday was about celebrating what my body is capable of, enjoying the scenery and saving something so I could not just finish, but finish joyfully. ✅

Cheryl on her tri bike. Zoom zoom!

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.