Just One Marathon

What My Mother Taught Me About Running

“Feet on ground. Heart in hands."-- Jann Arden

When the song "Good Mother" popped up on my iPod, somewhere around kilometre 12 of my 23K run this morning, it got me thinking about my own mother. Though she is not a runner herself, she has taught me a lot about running. For example:

Small steps: My Mom often tells me she named me for Saint Theresa of Lisieux because she is the saint of “the little way”. I have been known to complain to my Mom that it’s not a very inspiring reason to pick your daughter’s name. But I get what she’s saying. For most of us, it’s the cumulative small acts – the daily kindnesses, tiny sacrifices and quiet acceptance – that make us good people. And … I hope this isn’t too shallow … the running life is all about the little decisions you make, too. Forcing yourself out the door when you’d really rather stay inside. Ignoring small aches and pains. Pushing yourself to go just a little faster or a little further. Still, it does make me wonder what kind of runner I’d be if she named me “Flo Jo” …

Keep your eyes on the horizon: My Mom is a life-long, dedicated birder. After years spent on walks with her, I’m attuned to flashes of colour in the forest, interesting bird calls and distinctive flight patterns. Though I’m nowhere near as skilled as she is at identifying birds, I love being outdoors. And seeing a heron fishing by the river, a hawk making precise circles in the sky or a swallow swooping gracefully across down an embankment can give me an enormous lift on even the worst run. I just have to be careful that I don’t lose my footing.

Be grateful. I’ve mentioned this before, but each time I stand at the start line of a race, I am overwhelmed by an enormous sense of thankfulness. For my health. For my family and friends who support me. For my awesome speed (remember, this is the beginning of the race). That comes from my down-to-earth Mom, who often reminds me (especially when I’m tempted to complain about my little problems) that I am a very fortunate person.

My Mom lives in Toronto and I’m missing her today – but I’m not complaining, honest Mom! Happy Mother’s Day to my Mom and all the other great Moms out there, teaching their sons and daughters important lessons about life through their own small, caring acts.

Hitchcock Was Right

My lunchtime run today was quick but slow. Quick because I planned a short 4K route with a few 400 metre intervals. Slow in the sense that I felt tired and sluggish the whole time and ended up abandoning any pretence that I was doing speed work about halfway through the run.

 

The only good moment came right at the end, as I was rounding the last corner and travelling a trail through a small copse. As I ran, I scanned the treetops – a bad habit for a runner, I know, but I come from a family of birders so it’s a hard one to break. When I saw a flash of colour and an interesting shape my body automatically twisted to follow the bird's path.  Unfortunately, while my torso turned, my feet kept travelling forward and I ended up pitching headlong across the trail and into the brush. It was a minor fall resulting in just a little road rash. It was my pride that hurt the most, because I’m not sure but I think I might have looked spectacularly uncool for a moment there.

 

Luckily for me, the cedar waxwing was the only witness. He showed no reaction while I picked myself up, brushed myself off and resumed my run. But I bet he “tweeted” all his friends about it as soon as I turned the corner.