Self-fulfilling prophecies

Do you think there are some names out there that just go with certain characteristics? I certainly think there are in some cases. We’ve all met Kyles who felt like walking Red Bull advertisements, Chads who lean a little too far into the Frat Boy vibe, and of course there are Karens who desperately want to speak to the manager.

But there are other names out there that are basically self-fulfilling prophecies too. One of these names is Grace. I know what you’re thinking. What’s wrong with the name Grace? It’s easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and it’s classy. What’s the problem?

As for the actual name, nothing is wrong. It’s classic, beautiful, and makes many moms out there happy. Heck, MY name is Mary Grace! I love the name for its aesthetics.

But I have a hypothesis.

My hypothesis (based on a scientifically insignificant pool of exactly 3 women named Grace) is that giving a girl that name dooms her to 2 possible outcomes. Either she will be effortlessly graceful and athletic, or she will have the grace of a pregnant moose on roller skates.

I will give you one 1 guess which category I fall into. (Hint: I don’t fall gracefully!)

That’s right. I’m a bull in a china shop.

I have no inborn grace. I am an excellent faller, and I frequently find bruises from where I have fallen into something and just don’t remember doing it.

I can’t dance, and usually I am doing well to walk and chew gum at the same time.

To say I’m clumsy is probably a major understatement. This is one of the reasons I do better in a sport that is based on competing with myself, as opposed to on a team. As a kid, I was always the one who caught a ball in the face, no matter which sport we were playing or where the ball came from. Once, my now-husband (then friend) kicked a kickball from less than 3 feet in front of me and somehow managed to get me in the face. He wasn’t trying to kick the ball above waist height, but that didn’t matter.

In our B.C. days (Before Children), we used to regularly go to hockey games, and we always sat by the glass so I wouldn’t catch a puck in the face. Even now, if we go to a baseball game, I duck if a foul ball comes toward me instead of trying to catch it.

I’m a clumsy runner too.

Usually, it isn’t a big deal. There just isn’t that much where I can really hurt myself while I’m running. I just have to pay attention to be sure I don’t trip or step off the sidewalk, and I’m usually fine. Baby the weak ankle, wear a brace if it’s acting up, and I’m usually in good shape. And pay attention to curbs and the edge of the sidewalk. But as long as I do all of that, I’m usually okay.

But not always.

Outdoor Running Drama

One evening, I went running in my neighborhood, as I usually did just before sundown. It was a pleasant fall evening, I was happy, and the run was going well. I decided to add a few tenths of a mile to my run by ducking down a side street and running along the sidewalk. Usually I stick to the main roads and main sidewalks, just in case I get a paranoid neighbor who decides I look suspicious for running on a cul-de-sac where I live, but this night, I threw caution to the wind. It was close to dinner time, so the street was quiet, and all the houses had their living rooms lit. It was too early for the streetlights to come on, and it was light enough that I could see anything that might be in my way. One would think anyway…

I didn’t notice the tree growing a little too close to the sidewalk, and I definitely didn’t notice that the tree roots had caused the sidewalk to buckle upward a little. Until I caught it with the toe of my shoe, I didn’t realize the sidewalk was anything but smooth and flat.

Before I even realized that I was falling, I found myself lying on the ground, knees, hands, and elbows skinned up. I shook my head, trying to figure out why I was on the ground and if all the various body parts were still attached, and I heard a quiet guffaw. I looked to my right, and of course some dude was standing in his garage laughing at me. I had just dramatically faceplanted on a street that wasn’t my own, and some guy in his garage was a witness to the whole thing.

Needless to say, I got up and ran the other way. I haven’t run down that street since. I decided Garage Man doesn’t need a repeat performance of my amazing display of grace.

Indoor Grace

Running outside has its fair share of unknowns, like rough pavement, rocks, and trip hazard tree roots and sidewalks. You’d think I would be in better shape inside on the treadmill, right? Ha.

Last December, I decided to try Couch25K (again). I was making great progress—I was running consistently all week, progressing through the program, and generally feeling good about myself. I was excited to continue running over the holidays, and I was even planning to take the boys on a Christmas Day running adventure. But I managed to outdo my usual klutziness.

The run started out like normal. I had my favorite pair of AirPods in, was happily jamming to the music (Pentatonix to get into the Christmas spirit, of course!), and generally feeling good. I grabbed my phone to skip to the next song, and naturally I dropped it onto the treadmill. I bent down to grab it as I tried to step around it, and I proceeded to fly off the treadmill. I don’t even know what all I banged up, but my hip, knee, ankle, and my elbow all turned purple over the next few days. All I wanted to do was sit and cry in the floor.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have any witnesses to that particular fall, other than my dog. (I give her plenty of extra treats to buy her silence though!)

I’m also lucky I didn’t get hurt. Treadmill falls can be bad! Wear the safety strap thing, kids!

Am I over-generalizing?

Probably. But let’s be honest: if your name was Grace and you were this un-graceful, and then you met other people named Grace who were just as clumsy, wouldn’t you wonder if it came with the name too? I suppose the name-trait link with Grace is just one of those mysteries we’ll never solve.

I made a key error today.

I looked in the mirror after a run. This was a very bad decision.

I know people exist out there (somewhere) who look healthy and attractive while they run. None of those people are sitting in my house right now.

 When I run, I turn about the color of an overripe tomato, my hair looks like I stuck a finger in an electrical socket, my legs get all splotchy red and pink, and I sweat like crazy. It’s not attractive. Not even slightly. Let’s add this to my list of Reasons I Haven’t Picked Up a Guy at a Running Event. (It goes right after the whole “being married” thing.)

We haven’t even mentioned my running gear!

I’ve described what I usually wear before (you can read all about my favorite clothes for running here), but let’s be honest: none of it is what a typical person would call flattering. For one thing, I’m a chunky girl. Nobody really wants to see a chunky chiquita running around in short shorts or compression shorts really. And the tops definitely leave very little of my arm fat to the imagination. In the summer, I’m all about tank tops so I don’t melt, and it’s definitely less than I usually wear out of my house.

But let’s face it: I’m not running to pick up a date. It’s about comfort and not melting into a puddle in the summer.

I’m a little self-conscious, I guess.

I think most women are. We’re in a world where body positive celebrities like Lizzo are the exception, not the rule. Even for a girl who has accepted that her body is strong, and that it’s powerful, it’s hard to accept that we’re not all going to look like supermodels while we’re getting the miles. Many of us have some pudge. Some of us have baby pooches left from when we had small humans. Still others have jiggles, cellulite, thunder thighs, and all the other business that comes with being a human.

It’s hard to dress a bigger body for running, and it’s hard to convince the rest of the world that the kind of girl who shows up in ‘90s rap songs can run.

Running without a shirt?

Runner’s World has several articles about how empowering it can be as a woman to run without a shirt. Kimberly Nuzingah Bradley wrote about the experience here, and she describes how little the other runners cared that a big girl was running in just her sports bra during a race. She felt better, and like so many other things in life, she was the only person who cared.

There’s even a running group in Austin made up of women who make a point of running just in their sports bras. (Read about them here.) The group, Sports Bra Squad ATX, recognizes how miserable running in Texas feels in extra clothing, but it’s also a huge, scary thing as far as the confidence goes. Running with others helps people gain confidence to run without that extra layer, and again, nobody is going to care beyond the shirtless runner herself!

It’s kind of an aspirational thing, I guess, to run around my neighborhood without a tank top. I haven’t done it, but then again, so far all of my runs have been in the air-conditioned confines of my office on my treadmill.

I have been running in just a sports bra there though! So far I think the only people who have witnessed this are my neighbor, and then only if the light is right to see into my office (She is selling her house—is it connected to my running sans t-shirt? I guess we’ll never know…); my husband, who likes to sneak up on me while I’m dancing/lip syncing/grooving to my iTunes playlist; my kids, who do not care; and my mom, who also didn’t really care. There have also been the occasional furry family members who get a peek, but again, I don’t think they care all that much as long as I keep them fed. I sense a theme—nobody cares!

Things I should probably worry about:

1. Is the cat on the treadmill? (Yes, he tried it once. Yes, he failed spectacularly. No, I didn’t get video.)
2. Is the DOG on the treadmill? (Pretty sure she tried it once too, with similar results.)
3. Am I staying on the treadmill? (Stay tuned for a post about that bit of gracefulness. Ouch.)
4. Does the song on my playlist match my running vibe today? (Right now I’m definitely in my Taylor Swift era, but that might change next week.)

What’s not on that list? Oh, right. Whether I should run in just a sports bra. I need to shake that business off!

Whining on Repeat

Oh look! I’m whining about the heat again! It feels like a repeating pattern. And yes, I guess it is. The high today is expected to be 104°F (40°C). The National Weather Service is calling for heat index values close to 115 for the rest of the weekend. It is MISERABLE.

The Birthday Bash

Yesterday was my little dude’s 8^th birthday, so we did what any family stuck baking in Texas would do: we went to the nearest beach and tried to hide in the waves. Galveston is our nearest beachy area, so of course that’s where we go. We have a favorite beach there where we’re allowed to drive out onto the beach, set up our little beach tents and chairs, and play in the water.

We aren’t that far from the Mouth of the Mississippi or the mouths of about a million other tiny rivers, so our water isn’t exactly clear and beautiful most of the time (try silty and brown), but it’s still a beach! We take what we can get here, okay…

Anyway, we played in the water, laughed together, and the boys had fun! We all came home tired of course, but it was a fun adventure and a nice break from the heat.

Even better…

Galveston wasn’t crowded! One of the benefits of homeschooling is that, once the public schools all start back, we get to enjoy all the tourist attractions with fewer tourists! So we can do crazy things like drive down Seawall Boulevard at the actual posted speed and not wait for hours to get seats at a restaurant. With kids in the car, which is struggling to keep up with the blistering heat anyway, it’s those little things that make all the difference between a crappy beach day and a fun one.

The party continued…

Once we got home. We all got cleaned up, showered, and rested up a little before I headed out to get cupcakes.

I know, a normal person would happily make a cake or buy something from the grocery store just up the street, but some of us are unlucky on the food game. I’m gluten-free and I have allergies to preservatives that show up in grocery store cakes, so I have to go to the little cupcake bakeries around that make their frosting and cakes every day. It’s more expensive, and it feel Bougie and ridiculous, but I want some cake too, dang it! Cupcakes are my favorite dessert, so if that means I have to be little Miss Fancy Pants to get them, well, I regret nothing.

Oh yeah, the heat…

I went straight to the cupcake bakery and came straight home with my car’s AC on full blast. I had the visor down to try to shield the cupcakes, and I did everything I could to keep them as cool as possible. But there’s only so much you can do when it’s positively hellish outside. By the time I got home, the frosting had started to melt on 2 cupcakes, and the pile of sugary goop was sitting halfway off the cupcake in the box. Oops! Next time I guess I will need a cooler or something to save the cupcakes!

Back to the Party!

Little Mister 8 is my spitfire: he’s the Sith of the kids, definitely the Slytherin in the Harry Potter universe, and if we’re talking Marvel, I think he’s probably more like Loki than anyone else. He’s definitely a spunky dude, and I appreciate the spark he brings to the world. He does things 100% his way, and the rest of us just have to deal. He’s also the cuddler and the one who has the sly sense of humor. You never quite know what you’re going to get with him, but it’s going to be a fun ride.

(Contrast this with Mister 11, who is the responsible Jedi type, the studious one, and the one who would always play as the good guys in any video game. He falls into the stereotypical older kid role very easily, but he is the best big brother imaginable. He adores Mister 8, and Mister 8 adores him right back. It’s a fun dynamic.)

Mister 8 insisted on a Star Wars birthday theme, so I got him some “light side” cupcakes (vanilla) and some “dark side” cupcakes (chocolate). My son loves Darth Vader, so I knew exactly which cupcakes he was going to choose. (I got some gluten-free ones for myself, and because I am much more of a light side kind of girl, mine were vanilla.)

We got Star Wars plates, cups, banners, and a table cloth, and we invited all the grandparents over for burgers and fries for dinner (again, Mister 8’s choice). He had a blast, as did all the other adults and his big brother! My in-laws even gave the kids balloon light sabers, so there were some epic battles in my living room!

Seasons Changing?

Mister 8 is the last of the summer birthdays. My father-in-law will be celebrating his (insert garbled mumbling of his age) birthday in mid-September. If the weather behaves anything like usual, things will start to cool down around then, and maybe we can use our porch for his party. I’m also hoping for some outdoor running then too, if the weather decides to be friendly to such things.

I’m not the only one whining about the heat. I talked to my runner friend Angela earlier this week, and she told me how bad it has been for her. Normally she’s an 80 mile per month kind of girl (running with a giant Rottweiler puppy who is bigger than she is!), but this July she only ran 20 miles.

Think about that. It took a woman who is a very seasoned runner (not a runs-in-fits-and-starts runner like me, but a serious, seasoned runner) down to a quarter of her normal mileage! She also can’t stand treadmills, and they don’t really work for containing Rottweiler-sized puppy energy either! From what she told me, her Rottie would either use the treadmill as a bed or as a snack, so it’s probably just as well that she takes him outside for runs!

Stay cool in this heat, friends, and just remember, Fall is around the corner!

It is time…

For what you ask? Besides the obvious, for this stupid Houston heat to go away and let me run outside, I mean? (We all know that!)

No, it is time for me to find an in-person 5K to run as part of my training. The sign-up date for the Springtime Surprise Weekend at Disney World is coming up on August 22, and I need to get my butt in gear so that I am ready, not only to get my kids training for their races, but to train for my own races! I think I want to do Stitch’s Ohana Challenge, which is all 3 races—the 5K, 10K, and 10-Miler. I’ve never actually done a 10-mile, so that will be fun. (I’ve done longer distances, but never that specific one.)

Stitch???

If you’re unfamiliar with Stitch, I should probably give you a quick rundown of Lilo & Stitch. It’s one of those lower-budget Disney movies that probably gets made when someone is just like “Sure, why not?” in a brainstorming session. Basically, a little Hawaiian girl, Lilo, ends up adopting an alien who accidentally ends up on Earth. Said alien, Stitch, was created as a genetic experiment who is supposed to want to destroy cities and generally wreak havoc, but he can’t handle water and ends up on one of the more remote Hawaiian Islands. Hilarity ensues, family bonds happen, and the soundtrack involves a lot of Elvis Presley. It’s one of the cutest Disney movies out there.

As an aside, let me just say I’m glad the “surprise” in Springtime Surprise is characters I’m familiar with. Do you know how screwed I would be if this race was all about Marvel? I can’t catch up on Marvel over a weekend. That would take some serious dedication and maybe a university-level course on who’s who and what’s happening.

Why do other races to train for a big one?

One word: motivation. Let’s just say that, without a reason to train, I’m more likely to train to be an amoeba than I am to train for a race. I find myself motivated by deadlines, whether I set them for myself or other people set them for me. In fact, if I convince myself that I’m letting someone else down if I don’t meet the deadline, I tend to do better because I want to make that person happy. Is this a healthy way to be? Probably not? Is it probably rooted in some deep-seated people-pleasing need that likely means I need to have a long conversation with my therapist? Yes, probably.

But, if it works, and in this case, if it gets me off my butt and gets me serious about my running, I’m going to use it to my benefit.

But, you can have too much of a good thing.

I love medals, and I love 5Ks, but too many 5Ks can get in the way of getting longer distances done. It’s back to that whole lame “everything in moderation” deal, I guess. (I don’t know who decided we need chocolate in moderation, but that person is dumb and needs kicked.)

But, that all being said, most training guides out there do recommend running a couple of in-person races—usually a 5K and a 10K—to get used to the feel of running an in-person race. It’s not the same as stepping out the door and just going for a run. It actually involves some planning for things like where to park, how long to plan for travel time, when to eat breakfast before you go, navigating the pre-race port-a-potty lines, where to put your keys and any cards you want to carry with you, and all of that. As I have mentioned before, I like virtual races to help me train, but I like to add a sprinkling of in-person races too, to help me judge all of the logistics and to prepare to think of the day-of shenanigans that I know will come with actually going out somewhere and dealing with other humans.

Decisions Decisions…

On the positive side, I live in a big city, and I have a million in-person running events to choose from. On the negative side, I live in a big city and I have a million running events to choose from! A slightly anxious person like me can easily get sucked into analysis paralysis and find herself losing her mind trying to decide which race to run!

So let’s narrow this down. I want to choose a 5K in the Houston-Galveston-Sugar Land side of Houston about 6 weeks out. That would mean roughly in mid-September (and hopefully out of the worst of the heat), and it cuts out the races in the northern half of town. The weekends of September 16-17 or September 23-24 would be ideal. This brings it to even fewer races. There are several that sound interesting, so now it’s just a matter of picking one that sounds most interesting to me. The final decision for me comes down to which course is likely going to be more comfortable. The one I choose involves a flat, shady course, which is going to be much less miserable until about November than much of anything else in the Houston area. I might make a different decision if I didn’t live in Satan’s armpit.

Now that I have a race chosen, I will be running toward a smaller goal. That will make my overall progress a lot smoother, and then it will be easier to get the kids out and having fun running as a family. For now, the small humans are still swimming and enjoying being fish people because it’s too hot in this state to do otherwise. I’m still running on my nice, air-conditioned treadmill, but I’m still getting my miles in!

I’ll keep you posted on how this goes!

I asked a friend if he was going running yesterday…

This coworker and I talk about our runs a lot. He runs in the Houston heat almost every evening after work, goes for 6-10 mile runs on the weekends, and basically makes me look like the world’s biggest lazybones. He only discovered running after the Covid pandemic, but he loves it, and it keeps him happy and relaxed. (And, yes, he planned to run last night.)

I asked him if he considered himself a runner.

He paused.      

“I mean, you are what you do, right? I run…” He stammered. He looked uncomfortable.

I had stumped him with the Great Debate Among Runners.

Am I a Runner?

This one is a hard question for many of us who pick up running later in life. I don’t know about the kids who start running in middle school; I think they grow up thinking of themselves as runners and never have this existential crisis.

I didn’t start running until I was 31 years old, and the idea that I might be a runner is a tough one to wrap my head around. No matter how many races I run, or how many blisters, shin splints, black toenails, or other running injuries I get, no matter how many shiny medals live on my awesome medal rack on my wall; I still don’t feel like a “real” runner.

I think I feel this way because there isn’t some kind of entry bar to running. Everything else that I do comes with some kind of task that has to be completed for me to become that thing. That task could be as simple as paying dues or as extensive as receiving a college degree.

Recently I was certified as a Red Cross CPR/First Aid/AED Instructor. I took a class, I passed the assessment, and well, here we are. Now I don’t feel weird calling myself a CPR Instructor. It’s just something that I am.

But there isn’t any kind of entry hurdle for running… unless you’re actually doing hurdles, and that just sounds like a terrible idea with me involved. If you remember how that worked out for Goofy, you know how that’s going to go for me…

Anyway, if you want to run, you just put on your shoes and Boom! You’re running. Anyone can do a 5K. You don’t even have to run the whole thing! (Trust me! I’ve checked!)

Virtual races are even easier! You don’t even have to leave your neighborhood or your treadmill for those! (Watch for a post soon about this summer’s Disney Virtual Series!)

So why don’t we accept we’re runners?!

I blame the high school running kids. My little brother was one, and he’s fun to blame. He’s also my favorite (and only) significantly younger brother, so there’s that. (Sorry Jim.)

At my high school, the cross country and track kids had their own little “cool kids” clique. It was a large high school, so there were plenty of groups of “cool kids,” and they were one of many. They weren’t all that special, but they very definitely had their own thing going on.

Even once I went off to college, the elite runners had their own thing going on that was very different from the casual runners who occasionally took over a treadmill at the gym on campus or braved Cardiac Hill. (Fun factoid–one of the elite runners at my university ran on the Canadian Olympic team a few years ago! Super nice person too!)

Maybe that’s the root of it.

Maybe we, the casual running crowd, are scared to call ourselves runners, lest someone mistake us for the elite running crowd. We recognize that we aren’t Eliud Kipchoge or Usain Bolt, and we are sheepish about even using the same word to describe ourselves, even slightly. Would we be more comfortable if we clarified by saying “I’m an amateur runner” or should we just leave it at “I like to run”?

I know I am perfectly happy saying that I like running, but I balk at saying I’m a runner. It means the same thing, and yet, when I say it, it freaks me out.

And this is why I am not an English major.

It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve written. Probably because it HAS been a while.

Life has been a little crazy around here lately.

For one thing, the Hubs hurt his ankle. And you know what happens when a guy hurts himself. Momma Bear gains another kid. Well, maybe not another kid. But I definitely gained an extra teenager.

Anyway, it was a challenge.

Not that I’m the best patient in the world.

And I have plenty of experience.

When I was 16, I tested my flying skills… down a staircase… and it didn’t go so well. Do you remember the old Goofy cartoon where Goofy tried the ski jump? That’s about how my flight went.

Unlike Goofy, I’m not a cute cartoon dog, and I ended up in the walk-in clinic. I left on crutches for 2 weeks. I only sprained my ankle, but I was also 16. And of course, it was my RIGHT ankle. I kind of needed that to get my driver’s license.

It wasn’t awesome. And, of course, it was the ‘90s, and I wasn’t an athlete. There was no physical therapy or sports medicine involved, so my ankle probably healed all wonky, and now my ankle is especially susceptible to sprains and getting twisted. I hurt it all the time doing all kinds of stupid things, from chasing my idiot cat when he escapes at night to dancing in heels.

I’ve Only Hurt It Once On A Run.

I was 2 miles from my house, just on a practice run, and of course, I stepped wrong on nothing. I didn’t miss the sidewalk, or step on a crack, or even step on an unstable rock.

No, there wasn’t anything. My ankle just gave an evil laugh and decided we were done running. I felt it give way, and next thing I knew, I was sitting on the sidewalk with a grapefruit sized swollen thing where my ankle used to be, my shoe felt tight, and I knew I couldn’t put 2 miles worth of weight on that foot to get myself home.

I pulled out my phone, cursing up a storm, and called my husband for a ride home. I felt like an idiot, and I’m sure all the passersby who drove or ran past me thought I was having a psychotic break with all the crazed invectives coming out of my mouth.

The hubby was kind of enough to pick up his sailor-mouthed wife, dry her tears, and bring her home.

I was very thankful, but I was super cranky. I wanted to run, gosh darn it, and my stupid ankle ruined all my fun! I didn’t even DO anything to warrant this injury, and I didn’t want to be stuck on the couch with an ice pack on my foot! It wasn’t FAIR!

I continued a more R-rated version of this grumbling for another hour or two, until the Hubby got tired of it and left to play video games. He was kind enough to hand me the tv remote before he left though.

I’m being too mean to the Hubs, I guess.

Look at the fussbudget he puts up with when I get hurt. I should be kinder to him when he gets hurt too. I guess some people are just built with an inordinate amount of patience, and I’m not one of them.

(Sorry, Hubby Dubby. I still love you!)

Challenges

Lately I have had some running challenges (besides the running poops, but related). Last week, I woke up feeling bloated, kind of gassy, and I had the rotten egg burps. It was not pleasant. At first I chalked it up to a bad reaction to dinner the night before and decided I should probably work from home. I texted my boss and sat down at the computer, but before long, the belly rumbles began, and then the volcano began erupting.

It was bad news. At that point, I texted the boss again and let him know I was going to be out for the rest of the day. I logged off, went to my room, and I slept for a good 4 hours.

When I woke up, I still felt off. I was clammy, a little cold, and I just didn’t feel great. I probably had a fever, but I couldn’t find the thermometer to check (thanks a lot, Hubby or whoever moved it from its drawer!).

I decided it was a great night to rest and recover.

Needless to say, I didn’t run that day.

Then yesterday happened.

I thought the day would be great. I got up bright and early, ready to meet up with some friends for breakfast. We met, ate, and had a great time, visiting over a delicious meal. Then I came home with a gluten-free cupcake to share with the Hubby over coffee. (One of my friends brought us cupcakes, and she brought me a gluten-free one because she knows I can’t eat wheat and she’s amazing.)

I ate my cupcake and chatted with him over the weekend plans, and all of a sudden, I had to run to the restroom for one of my worst IBS episodes in recent memory. I know I have a gluten sensitivity, and I had avoided gluten, but apparently I’m sensitive to something else.

Whatever my digestive tract didn’t like, it left me sweating profusely, writhing in pain, and barely able to tell Hubs that I needed my anti-spasmodic meds. The attacks only last maybe 10 minutes at most, but a bad one will leave me utterly wiped out for the rest of the day.

After the attack yesterday, I was as limp as one of those inflatable flailing arm men, about a third as cheerful, and nowhere near as motivated to do anything. I took a long nap, and I didn’t do much else for the rest of the day.

I’m not telling you about this to complain.

Oh no. I’m absolutely not belly aching about my (literal) belly aches. I’m just telling you about my issues because they happen, even to the most determined runner people. I have goals, but this week my body didn’t want to go with the program. And you know what? It’s ok! It’s part of being human. I ran today, and everything worked out just fine.

Once I ran a half marathon sick.

I had been preparing very carefully for months, ever since my OBGYN cleared me to exercise after my younger son was born. I would run 4 times a week or so, and I was actually following a half marathon training program pretty carefully. Every weekend I would run a long run to prepare, and I felt good about my progress.

And then the Monday before Race Day came along.

I woke up to a slight tickle in my throat and a bit of a stuffy nose. At first, I thought it was just allergies, no big deal. I’m allergic to literally everything that blooms along the Texas Gulf Coast and in the Hill Country (and therefore might conceivably be blown in by a good thunderstorm), so this isn’t news for me. I took an allergy med and moved on with my life. But, as the day went on, the tickle evolved into a full sore throat, and the stuffy nose became a full drip, and then a fire hose.

Oh no, I thought. Not only was I planning to run a half marathon that Sunday, but my family, including my in-laws, were planning to do a camping trip in Galveston with their RV as part of the festivities! I couldn’t back out now! What could I do?

I did what any Millennial would do.

I asked Doctor Google.

Luckily for me, Doctor Google reassured me that I would be okay as long as the cold didn’t move down to my chest. I immediately started my get better regimen of chicken soup, orange juice, vitamin C, Sudafed, and Mucinex, and I prayed as hard as I could that the cold would stay in my head.

This time, God was on my side. I survived the race on Mucinex and Sudafed, but I most definitely did not get a PR. I did, however, get a very sparkly medal the size of my head AND a pink tiara!

I guess there’s a moral to all of this.

Getting sick happens. Feeling terrible is part of life. Give yourself grace and pick up where you left off when you feel better. Your body will thank you.    

I don’t love running inside.

 My view from my treadmill is the inside of my office closet, and it’s just not very interesting. I can sort of watch my iPad, or I can watch my feet (probably the better option so I don’t trip and go flying across the room), but it’s really not something entertaining to watch. But there is one wonderful thing about running inside: proximity to the bathroom.

Unfortunately for me, it appears that I have become a running pooper.

It doesn’t seem to matter how far I’m going: 10 minutes into a run, and I always need a pit stop. So far, for this iteration of my running career, this hasn’t been a big issue, considering the toilet is 18 steps from my treadmill (yes, I counted). But, at some point, the weather will cool down, and I will want to take my runs outside.

Time of day does seem to matter. My intestines don’t really wake up until later in the day, so early morning runs don’t require poopy pit stops.

Running poops aren’t just a human thing either.

I almost never take my dogs running with me because they’re terrible runners. One dog decides her legs don’t work after 2 miles, and the other runs back and forth in front of me, like she actually wants to trip me.

(It’s a murder plot, put together by a dog with a very little brain.)

The few times I have taken my dogs with me, the running poos hit them too. And not just one: each dog will poo, like, 6 times in a 2 mile run. They stop suddenly, and of course it always happens mid-stride. I nearly plow into the dog who isn’t pooping, and I usually end up tripping over the leash. It’s not graceful.

I have to bring a ton of poo bags, because, like I said, these dogs are pooping machines when I take them running. And I want to be a good neighbor, so those have to come home with me. Have you ever tried running with a stinky, warm bag of THAT in your hand? Trust me on this: DON’T. If I happen to run on garbage day, I have been known to slip my… baggage into the nearest full trash can if no one is watching. (But again, I don’t run with the dogs very frequently, so if you live in my neighborhood, don’t suddenly start stalking me on runs please!)

That time I didn’t bring bags…

My dog Rosie Posie has been a part of my running journey pretty much since the day we brought her home. She joined our crew 2 days after my older son’s first birthday, and I started running that same week. (It was a memorable week.) She was a gangly-legged 2 month old puppy when she first came home, just as much of a baby as my son, and they were best buddies from the start. Once she was well-enough leash-trained to stay by my side for a walk, I decided to see how she would do on a run. Remember, she was a high-energy, long-legged mess of puppy, so, I thought, if any dog would be a good running buddy, she would be the one.

It was a disaster. Rosie was all over the place, sniffing everything. She isn’t usually a nose-driven dog, but on that run, she might as well have been a bloodhound! All her training to stay to one side and not try to kill me went out the window in favor of all the delightful smells.

Then the running poos hit. Rosie stopped in the dead center of an intersection and left the largest, smelliest, least solid dog poo I have ever encountered. Just plop, right in the middle of the road.

I was stymied. I didn’t have poo bags with me, but THAT wasn’t going to go in a bag anyway! I looked around furtively; it wasn’t technically on anyone’s property, and it was before daybreak. These were the days before everyone had Ring cameras on their porches, and that particular intersection didn’t even have a streetlight nearby. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it was a safe bet that nobody had seen Rosie take that particular dump, and even if they had, what were they going to do about it?

Rosie and I cut our run short at that point and went straight home. I never took her running on that particular street ever again. When I ran by the next day, the poop was still there, but it had been run over a few times. No one ever said anything to me about it, so I think I got away with it.

Why do running poos happen?

There are many reasons running poos happen, according to Runner’s World (here’s the article if you want more detail). I think the most likely reason for me (and for my dogs) is because running gets everything moving, bowels included. I wonder if the reason I see more runner poos on the treadmill as opposed to my outdoor runs is because my treadmill runs have more of a vertical component than my street runs (described as vertical oscillation in the Runner’s World article). I definitely notice it if I try to read something while I run, so maybe that’s why I get the runner poos?

Stay tuned! As the weather cools down, I will test this theory! I’m a scientist in my non-runner life, so I smell an experiment coming!