I know it’s been a while since I posted, but in my defense, I’ve been [busy with work/handling a global pandemic/looking after mental health considerations/choose your own here].
I did however manage to write SOMETHING just… not here. I’m pleased to say I’m being published in Like The Wind Magazine’s 26th issue!
Stay tuned for run streak updates!
It’s been almost two weeks since I finished my Ottawa Marathon virtual 10k, a race I was thinking about from March until I finally ran it on September 6th. It was literally the second last day to complete the run… Not sure if that was procrastination or trying to cram as much gentle training in before the deadline as possible… Probably both.
TBH, I was ready to just get it over with. The Ottawa Marathon team was doing their best to keep me and the other race ambassadors on Team Awesome motivated and connected on social media.
Still, the mental stress that COVID inflicted on many (most) of us left me feeling a little numb. As the race date got closer, I felt… kind of nothing? No nerves, no worries, no thrills…
At least until I opened up my race kit.
I saved opening that baby for the day before the run because that’s what I would have done for an in-person race. The two mailers I got in the mail sat to one side in my apartment for weeks, tempting me like Nike.
I’m glad I waited. Finally tearing into those envelopes the day before the race made everything real. Really real. The swag was nice too, and a note from the Ottawa Marathon team about the tough circumstances made me teary.
I left the medal in my envelope without looking at it. I wasn’t going to do that it until the race was over and I had earned it.
I think in some way holding onto these little race rituals made the experience feel more authentic and intense.
Where was I?
RACE NERVES! The flutter-and-clutch feelings that come before a race, or possibly a test if you’ve never toed a starting line or headed into a corral and are looking for a comparison.
I don’t know what I thought this test was actually FOR—my knee was twingeing and, at my current speed, I had no hope of a PR.
Still, I was excited to finally see the race all the way through to the finish.
The next day, that’s exactly what I did. Here’s a brief bullet-point summary:
Coffee and bagel to fuel up first thing in the a.m.
Hoping for poop to come, but there was no poop. (The Ottawa Marathon team did not share my Instagram story about this. I don’t blame them.)
Pre-race warm-up with my toddler niece. She gives me the frostiest but most-needed of fickle two-year-old high fives.
Nerves!
The running part starts.
I head out a little too fast (JUST LIKE A REAL RACE) with my boyfriend dashing after me like the paparazzi.
Ended up running 8 minutes, walking 1 minute in intervals.
Legs were tanked by about 7 KM. My forever-pesky-problem-child left foot was pounding by this point too.
Race vibes HIGH and REAL at this point. I was determined to keep going with people waiting for me at the end, but also suffering in a Big Way.
Around the 9 KM mark, my sister, brother-in-law, wee niece and boyfriend jumped out of nowhere on the route with a sign to cheer me on.
…Then they somehow raced back to their house to set up a finish line? (I’m very lucky!)
Finished my slowest but MOST satisfying 10K ever with a homemade finish line made of pink paper party streamer.
MEDAL ACHIEVED.
Collapsed on grass to stretch while wee niece patted me and I made noises of pain. “Don’t cry auntie Wiley!” (I did not cry. I wanted to.)
Went home, showered, stretched, foam rolled (cue the actual crying part).
Social distance post-race oudoor pizza party with my boyfriend and bff.
So it’s all over and I loved it.
I took some time off running after that, because problem-child-left-leg felt like a grenade had exploded in the calf. After about four days, I figured getting some movement in would help free up the muscle and went for a gentle run/walk.
I’ve been on a steady regimen of run/walk pretty much every other day since.
Here’s the thing: I loved the race. I loved the race kit. I love the medal. It brought up all these exciting and challenging feelings I haven’t had since Run for the Toad last year. It was a great experience!
However, maybe for the first time since I started running almost a decade ago and racing became my M.O. for motivation, I don’t have the immediate urge to sign up for another one.
I’m currently not training for anything and I’m LOVING it.
In addition to that, I’ve snuggled myself up in a body liberation valley where (at least for the moment) I have settled with the fact that I am not running or exercising to change the shape of my body anymore.
It’s easy to say one thing but hope for another thing deep down. I think, at least for the moment, I’ve let some of that go.
I was really nervous to see the pictures and videos my boyfriend took on race day, petrified of the disordered and diet culture-y thoughts that seeing my larger body IN ACTION might kick up But… for once, no such thing happened. I was just a runner. A plus-size runner, out doing my thing.
Photo: Josh Tenn-Yuk
The pictures didn’t raise thoughts about dieting. There was no cringing.
I thought about all the cars I ran by during my 10 KM, and wondered who saw me on the move. I’d like to think at least one person had their perceptions challenged or saw new possibilities for themselves.
With beautiful fall weather here, no races, and no ulterior motives I am literally just running because I like to run.
Which is… Cool. Freeing. Radical. Scary. Peaceful. Honest.
Maybe by next week or next month I’ll change my mind and be raring to go, but for now? I’m settled.
Well, like not settled. Still moving, like running and everything—just willing to sit back and see where I feel like going next.
A few mornings ago, an older man shouted at me while I was out on my run.
I was chugging right along when I saw him on his bike in my peripheral vision. As I moved to let him pass, I noticed his helmet was askew at a 45-degree angle. That’s when he called out:
“Go girl! Keep on going!”
Not long ago, I wrote a blog about my dread of heckling season, that magical time when the weather is nice, people are outside more often, and a trash few of them yell at runners.
I wouldn’t call this man a heckler. However, as I continued my run, it struck me that this well-meaning acknowledgement had been happening a lot lately, and… it never had when I was wearing straight sizes.
Now that I’m in a larger body again, a fat runner, people see me when I’m running. I’m an anomaly.
In fact, one of the ways I knew I was gaining weight in the first place wasn’t because of a change in the way my clothes fit or a look in the mirror. It was because I was on a trail run and some hikers encouraged me to keep on going.
It bothered me at the time. Actually, I think these interactions bothered me right up until the morning with the bicycle man.
I assumed these guerilla cheerleaders were applauding what they saw as a weight loss effort. I assumed they saw me because I was different, and I thought that was a bad thing. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to move without acknowledgment or attention.
The fact is: there’s just no way for me to know what they’re thinking when they say this stuff to me.
The fact is: I could spin my wheels into infinity and beyond about what people think and why, but aren’t I better to take their good wishes and keep on running? I should put down my sword.
Isn’t it worse for me to hold onto something, effectively double-stigmatizing myself?
As I jogged my way back to my car at the end of the encounter with the bike man, a thought cut through the rest of the noise: why these people see me doesn’t matter. The fact that they see me does.
If I keep moving, and I keep being visible—visibly running, visibly fat—I might be able to help change the way people see larger runners. Better yet, I might help other people feel they have a place in the sport.
Maybe my visibility, and the visibility of other people with marginalized identities, really is the key to change. Maybe being noticed is one symptom of the cultural transformation that’s to come.
These bursts of representation will open up space to others who didn’t see themselves before.
If I can keep going forward exactly as I am, maybe one day I won’t be an anomaly. If others with other marginalized identities do the same, and we support and protect each other in doing it, we can transform the face of the running community.
Maybe one day, larger runners, BIPOC runners, LGBTQ+ runners, disabled runners, older runners, and others who don’t see themselves or feel welcome in the running world will be fixtures in the community.
Maybe one day, if we keep showing up and keep being seen, we’ll just be another part of the landscape.
So we’re basically starting over—by we, I mean me. (And maybe you. Hi!)
Here’s the thing: the turbulence of the past few months poured all my running juice down the drain. I tried to finish Couch to 5K and turn that into Couch to 10K, buuut… I was in a bad place mentally. Meanwhile, I was physically out for runs, but every single one was a complete drag.
For 1-2 months solid, every time my boyfriend asked me how my run went, I could only respond with a defeated and sluggish shrug. I thought maybe this was just over. Maybe running was dead to me, or I was dead to it.
So I sat down to evaluate my training plan. I ditched the one that wasn’t working for a format I’m more familiar with—I’m talkin’ about the Hal Higdon 10K novice plan. (Hal doesn’t know it but he’s one of my most reliable training buddies.)
Since my training schedule has flipped, I’ve plugged back into something electric. It’s only been about two weeks since I’ve been able to refocus on my Ottawa Marathon 10K training, but it feels like a more monumental shift back to normalcy.
Getting to a place where every run doesn’t feel like a swamp slog in flippers has been challenging, but I might finally be on my way.
I’m trying to lock back into that training love and that running magic which has pushed me to further distances and faster times in the past. I’m drinking all my water. I’m batch cooking for some quick eats when I need them. I’m trying to get up early… With mixed results.
Yesterday for my weekly long run, I tackled 6km out-and-back. It was a tough go. Wind? High. Humidity? Also high.
As I ran, I wished I could remember the way it felt when I first tried running over 10 years ago. How hard it probably felt, how I had no idea what I was doing, or any gauge for how far/how fast I was going.
I’m sure at the beginning everything felt hard, but it didn’t matter. I was just excited to go a little further and a little further every time. I was discovering an inner power I didn’t know I had. I wish I had some of that innocence back.
In the present, I can’t seem to entirely stop beating myself up for my current slower pace. (That’s slow by comparison to my old times, btw. I ain’t here to judge.) It feels like I’m actively trying to focus on something too hard and it’s keeping the magic from sparking—a watched pot never PRs, type thing.
In the past, the speed came with the commitment to continuous work. It wasn’t even a concern. The growth just happened when I wasn’t looking. In some ways, I took that for granted.
Moving forward, I want to get back to this. Worry less, run more. BUT I also want to try incorporating some new techniques to help me in my mission to love running again and complete this virtual 10K with everything I’ve got.
Add speedwork once a week. I finally have sourced a track and I’m going to use it!
Attempt to run more socially. If I can get out with the local run clubs, I know I’ll feel the sense of community I’m craving in my running… And bonus, since I’m slower, stay six feet apart from everyone ain’t gonna be hard.
Cross-training. THIS OLD CHESTNUT. Yes, I’m back on my “I need to diversify my movement” mess again.
If I can make these things happen, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage feeling more like myself, and rebuilding the running practice I pretty desperately miss enjoying.
Either way, I’m getting ready to run my first virtual race! It’s actually kind of strange and exciting. The race kit arrived in the mail the other day. I haven’t opened it up yet, but when I do, I’m holding off on looking at the medal until I’ve crossed that all-important finish line.
By then, I’ll have earned—no matter my pace.
Runners, heckling season is upon us.
COVID restrictions are beginning to lift. The weather is getting nicer. People are starting to return to the outdoors, and that includes the ones who think it’s okay to harass runners.
Especially female-identifying runners.
Especially fat female-identifying runners—ones just like me, and those with less privilege than I have. I’m what the fat positive movement would call a “small fat”. Also, I’m cisgender, white… and that’s just the start.
I’d like to pause here note that my discomfort with running outdoors is very different to that of my fellow runners who identify as BIPOC, who often feel—and can be—genuinely unsafe when running. This is an issue that has more recently moved to the front of the running community’s awareness because of Ahmaud Arbury’s murder. It’s something we all have to educate ourselves on so we can create a space where running really IS for every body. To get started, I recommend Latoya Shauntay Snell’s post “We Cannot Be Silent About Race Politics and Safety in Sports” which offers insight and perspective, as well as a list of informative resources.
Where was I? Right. My privilege backpack: small fat, cisgender, white, and beyond. I can go many places and not have to worry I won’t belong or that I’ll be in literal danger. I can do many activities without having to worry about being singled out.
Running outside isn’t always one of those—especially not during heckling season.
I’m not the only one who feels this way.
”How do you get out of your head enough to run outside?” asked a woman in a plus-size running Facebook group I’m a member of. “I want to run but I have such anxiety about running in my neighborhood that I end up talking myself out of it.”
Over on Instagram, I see my friend is in the same struggle: “Challenging myself not to give two butts about what I wear to run more often because ugh it’s too nice out to hide.”
Yep. Yesterday I spent my whole run struggling my ass off because I was too self-conscious to run in anything but a pair of black leggings and a hoodie to hide my body. It was sunny, almost 20 degrees and I was sweltering… Just like old times.
To borrow a move from The Last Dance, let’s plunge back in time to when I was 18 years old, a complete running beginner. I would run at sunset or after dark, when the cover of night could protect me from people. I only started feeling comfortable to go sleeveless or wear shorts when I lost weight because of the increased activity, an eating disorder, and the delusion that meal replacement shakes were delicious.
After that, it was easy to run whenever and wherever I felt like it. Sure, people would still heckle me, but it wouldn’t be an attack about my size. Hey, you running nerd! was the joke. My body wasn’t.
Hey, you running nerd! was the joke. My body wasn’t.
Jump back into the present, 2020. I’m almost 30, I’ve regained the weight and I’m mostly okay with that. My summer running clothes from last year don’t fit the same. I’m slower than before… And I’m staring down heckling season in my new-old size, after years of being in an “acceptable” body most strangers didn’t feel the need to comment on.
I’m acutely aware of this.
My harassment “Spidey sense” is dialled up to 11.
I’ve made the calculation getting up early to run in the morning means I’m less likely to be called a fatass out of the window of a speeding pickup truck. I actively find myself fighting the urge to skip meals so I can once again be small, acceptable, compliant. My brain tells me it’s preventative. It’s to protect me.
Every time I’m running and I see a group of teenage boys hanging out in the street, or a busy construction site, my immediate instinct is to find a way to change direction or at least turn up my music so I can’t hear anything. I don’t want their words, or even the shapeless sound of their voices in my head, because I know my mind will instantly mold it into something awful, whether anything was said or not.
It’s not that I’m so fragile that a single comment will crumble my resolve and I’ll quit running forever. I’ve been heckled before. I’ll been heckled again—it’s just a sad fact. I don’t know a single runner of any gender, race, or size who hasn’t been yelled at in the street. The longer you’re in the game, the more heckled you become.
It’s not that I’m so fragile that a single comment will crumble my resolve and I’ll quit running forever.
Here’s the thing: I’m tired of this shit. I’m still learning how to take my dreams seriously in the body I have; I’m not ready for it to be a stranger’s joke. I don’t want to put myself in the sights of some creep who just wants to make his buddies laugh, but I guess I’ll risk it. For resilience’s sake. For running’s sake.
I wish I had some sort of powerful conclusion here, something useful to offer you—a running harassment survival guide. Something to help you deal with it the next time someone tries to break you down for their own amusement while you’re working so hard to build yourself up.
I wish I had a list of comebacks, or some kind words, or the perfect way to help you avoid all of this entirely. I don’t.
Maybe I wrote this so you know you’re not alone. Maybe you can call it a rite of passage. If I did have any advice to help when you experience heckling, I could probably distill it down to a few key points:
Wear what you want.
Turn up your music.
Fuck ‘em.
EDIT (MAY 28, 2020): Here’s a comprehensive list of anti-racism resources that is being widely circulated. It includes books, podcasts, movies, articles, organizations and more.
The news cycle for the past few days has been particularly loaded with stories of police brutality and racism. It’s important to keep in mind that these are just examples which have been caught on video.
It’s happening every day with and without cameras. This cannot continue, and the change begins with us.
You likely already know Ahmaud Arbery’s story. Arbery was a 25-year-old runner who was chased down, shot, and killed by two white supremacists on February 23, 2020 in broad daylight while he was out for a jog.
I could say plenty of things about this: how it’s only one example of millions of the violence and oppression racialized folks experience (in America, Canada, and elsewhere) every day. How it’s ignorant, irresponsible, and impossible to divorce politics from running.
I could talk about how white runners (that includes me) need to do better as allies, as anti-racists, as changemakers.
But this isn’t a time when my voice matters most. So instead of writing a long op-ed, here are resources and content made by racialized folks on the subject of race and white supremacy, how to be a better ally in the fight against racism in running and beyond.
Sign the petition on RunWithMaud.com
Run 2.23 miles on the 23rd of every month, because the runs honoring Ahmaud Arbery will keep going on until the case is prosecuted.
Goodbodyfeel – LET’S TALK ABOUT RACE discussion (YouTube)
The Long Run podcast #72: #IRunWithMaud
Pod Save The People: Justice For Ahmaud Arbery
“We Cannot Be Silent About Race Politics and Safety in Sports” – Latoya Shauntay Snell, Running Fat Chef
“Ahmaud Arbery and Whiteness in the Running World” – Alison Mariella Désir, Outside Magazine
“What Is White Privilege?” – Christine Emba, Washington Post
“12 Ways to be a Better White Ally to Black People” – Janee Woods, The Root
Confession: if I hadn’t been chosen as an ambassador for the 2020 Ottawa Marathon, I wouldn’t be training for a marathon right now.
I’d be taking my recovery and return much slower. Starting from scratch, even.
But I am an ambassador. I am coming back from a running injury. I am training for a marathon.
Am I crazy?
The reality of the training struggle got really real last Saturday when I took on a 10 mile (16 km) long run and suffered through absolutely every step of it. All runners know this type of outing: the kind of run where the best part is that it’s finished.
Back at my apartment, I collapsed on my bed in sweat-soaked gear and stared at the ceiling, numbed and frightened, legs pulsing.
How do I do this? Can I do this? Should I do this?
Running was never easy for me before but, pre-injury, my body used to be a reliable ally instead of something I was actively working against to achieve my goals. Ten miles? No problem. Now…?
As I showered off the sweat and stretched, I began to pick apart the awful run I had just put myself through. Was it really just a bad run, or a larger indication of what’s ahead of me for the next 87 days of training and preparation?
In review, I don’t know. I’ll have to see. I can say only this with confidence: I’m not going to blame my body for Saturday. I’m going to blame my brain.
I made a lot of running mistakes, and most of them could have been avoided if I had been disciplined and focused. Maybe to hold myself accountable, or maybe to help anyone else who might be looking for some help after a bad run of their own, I wrote them all down.
What follows is a sort of “running hygiene” checklist. How is YOUR hygiene?
I woke up. I ate a bowl of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and drank a cup of coffee. And then, because it was Saturday and I was feeling chill, I puttered around my flat for 2 and a half more hours.
Solution: This is the kind of personal knowledge you get through good ol’ fashioned trial and error. I personally find that eating 30 minutes to an hour before a long run is usually optimal for energy benefits… Any longer and I feel like the energy has already burned off. Bad call, me.
When I spoke to my physiotherapist about getting back in the running game, she stressed the importance of warming up. Not just walking to warm up—actually warming up and stretching for 5-10 minutes before heading out. I didn’t do this. I could say I was too eager to get out the door, but actually…? I’ve never been good at this and I think many runners have the same issue. “My warm up is the first mile!” Lol, no.
Solution: In the future, I’m going to set a ten-minute timer, and I won’t be leaving the house until my muscles are warm and ready to go, and that timer is beeping, bby.
Picture it: Montreal, 2018. A younger, less-injured me is training for my second half marathon. I’m not used to running long distances yet and it’s rough on my brain. So I build audio sandwiches. I start my long runs out with music—a full album or playlist to get into le zone. And then, once I’m on the go and the music ends, I switch to podcasts for a while for some company. I swap back to music at the end for a little finishing booster. On Saturday, I only listened to podcasts. People talked and talked and talked… I didn’t even try a little fatigue-fighting music.
Solution: Easy, right? Make yourself a fat audio sandwichI I guess, if I had to dole this out as advice for someone who wasn’t me, it would be… Whether you listen to music, or podcasts, or nothing on your run… Switch it up. The change might feel good!
I didn’t have time to make it to a running store before Saturday and I was out of gels and fuels, aka run candy. I did have time to run to my closest Shopper’s Drug Mart and buy some Starburst sour gummies that were on sale. So I brought those with me for fuel instead, along with my water bottle.
I’m suspicious about whether or not this is actually a mistake. After all, I could’ve gone with nothing. I’m no nutritionist, but I know sugar in its many forms will work for a quick energy return. Maybe the difference was all in my head and candy was the least of my worries? More research required.
Solution: I went to my local Running Room and bought some gels and chews for next time. Even if it’s the placebo effect I will take whatever boosts I can get.
You know how the golden rule for race day is “nothing new”? Well the other golden rule is “think about what you’re wearing before you go out on your long run.” Wear your comfiest, most reliable gear. If you’re a person who has to wear a sports bra, like me, don’t choose the one that works for 5Ks but gets a little uncomfortable over long periods of time. Otherwise, you might be getting chafing, side-stitches and the whole bit.
Solution: In my future, I pledge to pick out my gear the night before my long run. That way it’s less of a struggle the next day and I have time to consider what I’m wearing instead of trying to drink coffee with one hand and put on compression socks with the other before staggering out the door. Without warming up. AGAIN.
I’m not a COMPLETE fool, by the way. I did some of the things you’re supposed to do after a run. I drank water! I stretched! I complained about how much I hate running on Instagram! (Note: I don’t hate running, but apparently the first time you utter those three words is a rite of passage. Boom. Where’s my membership card?)
But by then it was late afternoon, and I had to go to the post office and still make it to the 6:30pm showing of Greta Gerwig’s Little Women before it left theatres. So: I didn’t have a chance to ice my legs. By Sunday, they were stiff and uncomfortable.
Solution: I took an extra rest day off just to make sure everything was in order. In the future, I’ll ice ‘em good, no matter how they’re feeling.
I could go on and on, writing this list into oblivion: I didn’t consider the intensity of my workouts earlier in the week. I probably could have gotten more sleep, etc. etc. etc. You get it, right? I made lots of mistakes.
On the road to Ottawa, I’m sure I’ll make a lot more, and I’m ready for it—as long as they’re brand new and not the same old, same old on repeat.
My FitBit and I used to be inseparable.
If I was asleep, FitBit was telling me how much time I spent in my dreams—or more accurately, how much sleep I wasn’t getting. When I was moving my body, it was loyally keeping track. This far! This long! Here’s your average pace! Here’s your elevation! Yay!
On the rare occasion I ended up running without it, I felt the run didn’t really count. Sure I could enter it manually, but it wasn’t the same as watching it sync high five my phone and seeing the round footstep meter explode with confetti for reaching my daily step goal.
The ‘Bit measured everything for me. It even told me how to feel about my runs.
If I felt I had a particularly strong outing, but it informed me I had actually been slower than my usual pace? I was less proud of my efforts. The numbers didn’t lie, and that glowing feeling I usually get from finishing a good run faded.
I was depending on data, and not a feeling for validation. Which… kind of became a bigger problem.
When I got my inaugural running injury back in October, it kicked off a lot of changes. Because I wasn’t able to run, I started swimming instead. I gained some weight. My leg muscles, despite attempts to keep them in use, began to weaken. This is normal off-season injury care stuff. I was upset that I couldn’t run, but was trying to be chill about it.
When I finally got the go-ahead from a physiotherapist and started running/walking again in late December/early January, my FitBit came with with me. It was bearing some unsurprising news: my pace was slower… by a lot.
As a plus-size runner, my times have been all over the place throughout the years. I never paid them too much mind until now. In the new world of PBs and marathon training, FitBit chimed at me with a new attitude that suddenly felt judge-y.
Its calculations of my average pace per kilometre felt like criticisms. I knew it wasn’t really the watch. It was my own evil thinking, but it was mirrored in that tiny wrist window. And seeing those slower number was discouraging. Disheartening.
It sucked.
I had been dying to run for months. Suddenly I was on my feet moving through the world and yet…? I wasn’t looking at the sky. My eyes were locked onto that screen. I wasn’t happy to be out; I was frustrated that I wasn’t the runner I used to be.
And while I know there’s nothing wrong with being slower or slowing down, I didn’t feel neutral about it. I had a feeling that felt like disappointment wearing embarrassment’s coat and a shame hat.
You get the summary of what I’m saying: worshipping the watch was ruining my comeback running experience and making what was already physically difficult even harder. (Seriously y’all, rebuilding is exhausting.)
So I stopped wearing my FitBit. I haven’t worn it for a few weeks, even though some habits are hard to shake.
Today I finished a training run and instinctively looked down at my wrist to check the data and finish my workout. It was naked. I still eyeball the data other runners share on social media out of curiosity or—at my worst—jealousy. I still roughly mark the time I leave and the time I return in my head.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with gadgets or stats. In fact, I’m somewhat tired of people railing against technology as diluting the beauty of the sport.
Your run is your own, track and measure to your heart’s content. But I think there comes a point where electronics: headphones, fitness trackers, everything… Could stand to be left at home, especially if they’re hurting our motivation or keeping us tuned out from our bodies.
Try going for a mile without being plugged in. It’s a different experience.
Maybe when my legs get stronger again, and I want to focus on fighting for a faster time, my FitBit and I will reunite.
For now, in training, I need to focus on covering the distance no matter how long it takes and not judging myself for that.
Months ago I wanted to run the Ottawa Marathon with a better time than my first in Toronto. Now I just want to finish it without injury.
Without the constant ticking away of seconds screaming from my wrist, I’m beginning to feel a little better and a little stronger every time I lace up.
These feelings of progress are precious and unmeasured by any device except my mind. I’m going to hold them as close as I can—without asking my wristwear for a second opinion.
Y’ALL! It is my pleasure as a running ambassador for the 2020 Ottawa Marathon and official Booty Captain of Team Awesome—that’s… not real, that’s a title I gave myself—to bring you big. News.
I’ve got a promo code to share with you. This is some real-time running ambassador business.
Get 15% off any race distance from now until race weekend. Come and tackle a 5k, 10k, half or full marathon because… Why not? You’ve got time to train and a discount!
Just register at Race Roster and tell ‘em I sentcha.
Last week I finally got to announce some big news: I was selected as an Ambassador for the 2020 Ottawa Marathon! That’s right, yours truly is an official member of Team Awesome.
I used to think in the old cliché: if you had told me [x number of years] ago that I’d run 42.2km I would have [insert reaction that demonstrates disbelief].
I don’t think that way anymore. I know a lot of what I’m capable of and what I’ve already done. Now, I’m ready to do more.
Even so, I’ve got some nerves about it already. This time feels different.
I’m heading back for a second crack at the marathon distance as an Official Ambassador for a race while healing from my first running injury at a time when I’ve never been in more of a power struggle with body confidence issues that have plagued me for almost my entire life.
I’ve already started scheduling 2020 and cross training to stay strong while my injury heals. I’m seeing an anti-diet dietitian to try and get my body issues in order before I have to plunge back into intense running weeks.
December and January are for recovery and maintenance. Once February happens, the real work begins. Let’s goooo!
#RilesRunsWild 