The other day a therapist asked me, when I was bragging about Dry January, what my plan was for February 1. It was a great question. I was planning to party. I guess that’s probably what she assumed and made me reconsider my approach: Dry January has certainly been a great exercise in restraint. I’m going to sleep early, waking up early, and running a lot and doing push ups everyday. Basically acting in complete restraint of my id. I feel good. But if it won’t last, is there even a point?
I think there is a point to Dry January and I think it’s to reconsider our relationship with alcohol. It’s amazing how things that are habit forming can be used for good or for ill. Not that I consider drinking beer or eating edibles, per say, something horrible, just in my own life I’ve caught myself twice saying I was looking forward to a chance to over-imbibe. A friend said she couldn’t give up her Saturday afternoon cocktail. I said it wasn’t a single drink I was missing. It was 14. (And not that I would sit down and consume 14 beers in one setting but the idea was, I think: I was missing letting go and associated that with drinking).
19 Days into Dry January, so what? I’m exercising more and sleeping better. I go to bed and wake up early. Since it’s so cold on my runs I’m exhausted by the end of the night. This is good. Our sleep, I believe, is indicative of how we feel. It’s very hard to operate when you’re exhausted and if being alcohol-free helps you rest better, that in itself is a good reason to quit. Of course, not drinking is easier when there’s no socializing. Not seeing anyone or going anywhere makes it pretty easy to drink fizzy water. I’m also not spending very much money. Again: good things.
Like all of us, I’ve reframed what it is to see a friend. I’ve gone on runs with a buddy, and even run with my group, even if our numbers have to be pared down. Both of these activities have sparked joy. And both helped me sleep afterwards. With two friends who aren’t runners, we’ve dressed warmly and gone on walks. These haven’t been epic occasions but rather sober-minded opportunities to catch up and reconnect. 19 Days into Dry January I don’t really think I miss booze.
But where do people go after Dry January ends? I’ve done this before and reverted basically, I believe, back to where I was with alcohol: delighting in the opportunity to have as much as I want. Of course drinking is just like running in that moderation will always be the key. Consistency. If you want to drink forever, you can never drink too much or else you’ll have that opportunity taken away. It will no longer be healthy.
I guess the point is that 19 Days into Dry January I’m reconsidering my relationship with alcohol, and that’s always a good thing to do. It’s probably healthy to reconsider all of your relationships, including your relationship with running: are you enjoying it as much as you once did? Is there anything you need to change? Consider your own choices and free will and what you might try to shake your life up. Everything we do is a choice, whether it’s a beer or a run, so try and remain conscious. Nineteen days into my annual experiment I at least feel awake.
Happy new year to all of you iRun readers! With 2021 firmly in the rear-view mirror this is often the time of year when intentions are high for dramatic changes in our running. A new year, a new you—one of more running, more fitness, more races, new distances, new challenges. We’ve all been there, that initial state of high motivation and big goals. This is when anything seems possible and no challenge is too big. However, we’ve also probably all felt the disappointment of not meeting our own expectations when the day-to-day grind of pursuing our best intentions becomes overwhelming. This run club is designed to be the end of all that. This is the Joy iRun Club.
With the second Friday in January dubbed “quitter’s day,” the day where people are most likely to give up on their new year’s resolutions, we wanted to launch a series of articles to help runners navigate balancing running with life in a meaningful and sustainable—joyful—way. Our ambition with this series is to help you develop a healthy relationship with the sport and gradually implement concepts each month that will culminate in late spring, coinciding with the biggest spring races here in Canada. This series will be less about individual workouts and more about conceptual, healthy approaches to the sport.
For January we will begin with three key concepts: establishing routine, sustainable habits, and building a foundation.
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.”
– Will Durant
Establishing Routine
The best predictor of long-term success is consistency over time and to achieve this we need to establish routines. Are there certain days of the week that you have more time to run? Are you more likely to run in the morning before the day’s commitments or later in the afternoon once you’ve conquered your day (I’ve found knocking the run out first thing leads to a more productive day, but to each their own)? Are you a social runner? Do you run with music? We are all different so it is natural to expect our routines to vary and it isn’t uncommon that these routines change over time. I generally think about routine as having two buckets: routines within running that help buildconsistency and routines outside of running that help maintain that consistency.
A routine within running that I find helpful would be having a known route for every common distance starting from your front door. This means you can step outside and not have to think (if you don’t want to) about where you should go if you want to run an easy run. It also means that some running can be done without a watch, which allows you to focus on how you feel and just enjoy being out there. A second routine within running might be a set weekly running date with a friend. We all know we’re less likely to skip a session if we’re meeting up with someone! As one last example, if your work has the facilities for it, run commuting to work is an effective way to get those easy runs in while actually saving time (and if you’re working from home you could always run on your way to do chores).
Outside of running, routines like checking the weather and laying out your running clothes the night before or preparing your morning coffee so it is ready when you wake up can be helpful in getting that initial boost in motivation. If you are an evening runner and you find it hard to get out the door after a long day at work I’ve found that bringing your running gear and making the effort to run before you get home can go a long way to keeping consistent. If running in the cold during the winter is a challenge, try warming your shoes on a heater before you step out the door. The purpose of establishing these routines outside of running is to maintain that consistency we’re looking to build. Frame running not as a chore or something odious but something that provides energy and makes you feel good.
The next piece of this series will focus on developing sustainable habits and building the foundation for successful running over the long-term. Remember, the best predictor of long-term success is consistency over time, and the best way to be consistent is to enjoy what you do, so we want to make sure that what we’re doing is well thought out and sustainable: Your running should spark joy!
For this week, the homework is simple:
Establish an easy running route from your front door that you haven’t run before
Prepare your running gear the night before a run at least once this week
Run the route you’ve established in point one without a watch – just enjoy being out there!
The Joy iRun Club will exist online at the iRun Facebook page. You don’t have to buy anything and you don’t need to sign up. If you want to share your journey, and by announcing your goal in public you’re more likely to see your goal achieved, please click here. Happy trails.
My first ever pair of running shoes were a hand-me-down pair from my older sister—too small, but they got the job done. My next two pairs came from my older brother and my best friend—both pairs sizeably too big, but I managed.
The first pair that I could actually call my own I paid for with my paper-route money—purchased on lay-away, of course. So, when I have been fortunate enough in my career to be provided with running shoes, trainers, or the like, I have always had a deep appreciation and understanding of how fortunate running has made me.
It is why, when I have been sponsored or provided with running shoes, I have always held on to a few extra pairs at the end of each contract. Preparing for the inevitable part of my career where I would not be sponsored. Still a privilege I do not take lightly.
It is why I am incredibly grateful to get to try out new shoe models and tell you all about them here at iRun.
As of April 1, 2021, I was able to wear whatever I wanted on my feet. I still had a few pairs of Under Armour shoes that I could continue to wear, but I was also ready to see what other brands had done over the past few years. As life would have it, April was also when all of my stuff from Canada arrived down here in Denver—which meant I would be reunited with my small stockpile of shoes.
The new fancy kicks would have to wait. I had my past to run through.
Since then I have been doing the majority of my mileage runs in shoes made between 2012-2016. Some brand new, some with a few miles on them already. No carbon plates or fast foam.
In my collection are a pair of Saucony Kinvara and Pro Grid Triumph from 2013, several pairs of Asics Nimbus from 2014-2016, and a few other models whose names I have forgotten (and cannot even find on the internet anymore!) I couldn’t tell you what pair of shoes to go buy right now. I don’t know what I’d buy if I walked into a store. I’ve been sidelined for five years from the shoe game and grew up in hand-me-downs. I don’t know the name of the best racing flat and I can’t tell you the names of the different foam technologies and carbon-plate science.
I’m excited to find out.
I think it is going to be interesting these next few months—going from the accidental crash course of the shoe technologies of my former career to the updated technologies and the start of something new. The first shoes I’m reviewing are the Puma Women’s Deviate NITRO, come back for my review this month.
Lanni Marchant is a two-time Olympian and one-time fastest female Canadian marathon runner of all-time. If you’ve tried running in a shoe you love have a shoe review you want to share with Lanni Marchant, put your comments down below. To follow Marchant on Instagram, go to @lannimarchant.
Years ago, I was at a tune up appointment with my rockstar physiotherapist Stephanie. It was springtime and I had just come back to running after hibernating for the winter. She asked me how I was keeping fit through the winter, and I embarrassingly admitted that I didn’t do much. Stephanie said that if I wanted to improve as a runner, I was going to have to either find a way to run through the winter or learn to cross train, otherwise I would be losing my hard-earned progress. So, I committed to becoming a winter runner.
I live in Winnipeg, so winter running here is no joke. We pride ourselves on our well-won frosty faces and hearty nature as we wave to each other out on the Red River trail (who knows who’s under all those layers, so you’d better be friendly). It’s cold in Winnipeg for at least four months of the year—the average temperature in January is -17 degrees Celsius, but we routinely see days much closer to -30—so you need to be willing to dive far into the deep freeze to keep moving. Here are my five tips to running in extreme winter cold: I guarantee you that nothing will make you feel like more of an invincible superhero…and you’ll be back for more.
Get psyched to head out the door. You are committed to doing this thing, but let’s be real. It feels daunting and you probably need a kick in the pants. Pick a new episode of a podcast you’ve been waiting to listen to, or your best motivational playlist. Drag a friend out with you. Tell someone you are going and give them permission to taunt you mercilessly until you leave. Whatever it takes to get you out is fair game.
Turn on your furnace. I recommend getting dressed to go out at least ten minutes before you leave the house. Pile on those layers early to get your body good and hot and you won’t feel the cold for at least the first few blocks.
Layer smart. I don’t have to tell seasoned runners that layers are key. Put those good moisture-wicking layers on the bottom to keep the sweat from freezing on your body. I usually wear a pair of technical gloves with a pair of heavy mitts over top. Make sure your last layer is a good wind stopper. I will often wear sweatpants over top of a high-quality pair of winter weight leggings and high thermal socks. A balaclava is a must, and usually a buff around the neck with a toque on top as well. Don’t worry what you look like. Function over fashion, people. Frostbite sucks.
Stop the freeze. Tech freezes fast, so keep it protected if you want it to survive the full distance. I run with Aftershokz headphones (under all the layers) and so far they have never frozen. My running partner taught me the trick of packing my phone in a single mitt inside my jacket and that usually saves the battery from freezing. Water bottles also need protection—wear those underneath your jacket to keep them from turning into useless blocks of ice.
During and after: Don’t push yourself too hard on days like this. You won’t be setting any land-speed records as you trudge through snow drifts. Likely you won’t be thirsty when you are out running, but make sure you keep hydrated with those safely stashed water bottles. Once you get back, get those layers off quick: that buildup of frost melts fast and you’ll be left wearing wet clothes. Tea is good post-run to reheat you from the inside, and bonus points are given if you drink it in a hot shower. Don’t forget to stretch—running on ice and snow demands extra from your muscles and you might find yourself a bit more sore than usual. Don’t forget to share those frosty face selfies from your run to take full advantage of the badass status you have earned.
Lori Ewing is the fearless sports reporter for Canadian Press, a runner, about to cover her ninth Olympic Games next month in Beijing. As she begins to pack her bags and take her COVID tests, we asked Ewing about what’s so special about the Olympics, and who might be the next Damian Warner or Andre De Grasse of the snow.
iRun: For starters, Novak Djokovic is all over the news. Do Olympians need to be vaccinated to participate in the Games?
Lori Ewing: The Canadian team has be fully vaccinated and the push now is for all of them to get boosters. I think the rule for the Olympics in general is that if you’re not vaccinated, you face a three week quarantine when you get to China.
iRun: COVID is so prevalent and whipping through professional sports. Are athletes worried about catching it between now and the Games, thus missing the whole thing?
LE: Yeah, that’s really tough. If an athlete tests positive between now and then, they’re not going. At this point, I know a couple figure skaters who had contracted the virus Christmas Day and they’re the lucky ones.
iRun: Incredible.
LE: Such strange times. Again, figure skaters, there’s a pair who don’t live together and they were planning their long program by playing music in their separate apartments and doing synchronized high knees for a jump and burpees for a throw, just as a way to stay in shape for two weeks.
iRun: I guess everyone does what they have to do. How do you feel?
LE: It’s an adventure. Before Tokyo, I was even wondering: why are we even doing this? With no fans, it’s going to suck! But once I got there I was so glad to be there. It was amazing, even though it was still really weird. Without fans, you could hear the athletes talking to each other.
iRun: I guess less people also means less press also means more times with the winners?
LE: Yeah, exactly. Before we left, we were told we’d have like 90 seconds with the athletes, but when we got there that went out the window. Damian Warner stayed for almost half an hour after he won.
iRun: Here’s the million-dollar question: who can be the Winter Olympics Damian Warner?
LE: Mikael Kingsbury, pictured below, the moguls freestyle skier, but also you never know. That’s what makes the Olympics so special. Literally, anything can happen! Of course Canada also has some good speed skaters, long track skaters, figure skaters, bobsled—Canada does really well at the Winter Games.
iRun: Are you nervous?
LE: I’m not competing. All I have to do is write what happens.
iRun: True, true.
LE: I will say that I was supposed to go for two months and also cover the Paralympics, but I was worried that if something happens I could get stuck there. Flights are almost impossible to find.
iRun: There’s always lots of unknowns but this really takes the cake.
LE: It does but I also have to say, when I returned from Tokyo, friends were like: “that must have been terrible.” No, no, no, I said: they were fabulous. I might remember them as my favourite Olympics ever. It’s just so different from everything.
iRun: What are you most psyched to see?
LE: I usually cover figure skating, and ice dancer Piper Gilles and Paul Poirier, picture up top, could reach the medal podium. I’m also looking forward to freestyle skiing, speed skating, women’s hockey—plus, we have a really good team of both male and female bobsledders.
iRun: It’s interesting. I don’t know these athletes or much about the sports but I know that when I watch it, I’ll be cheering at the top of my lungs.
LE: Everybody gets hooked.
iRun: That’s what makes it so fun because you never know what the thing will be.
LE: I remember calling home from Tokyo and asking if people were watching and everyone said: We’re loving it! And by the end of the women’s soccer or else Damian, it felt like a groundswell of attention had grown in Canada and I’m hoping that happens again in the Winter Games.
iRun: There’s just nothing like the Olympics.
LE: Yeah, it’s hard to describe. Covering the Raptors’ 2019 championship run was different because we had weeks to get used to the idea the Raptors might win it all. There were obviously fabulous moments such as Kawhi’s buzzer-beater against Philly, but at the Olympics, anything can happen in the span of 10 seconds.
iRun: You’re a grizzled pro but I’d imagine it’s hard not to get caught up in the moment.
LE: In Sochi, I was watching Patrick Chan and sitting besides a friend and he says, “Lori, I can feel your legs shaking.” I don’t know how the athletes deal with it. I can’t deal with it! It’s emotion cranked up 100 times.
iRun: Hey, Lori. Thanks for this. It certainly is exciting and there’s certainly lots to get excited about. Will you report back from China for iRun?
LE: Sure, it would my pleasure. Really, like with the women’s soccer game, how it came down to penalty kicks? You can’t make this stuff up. It’s stories like this that I love to share.
For more from the Winter Olympics and Lori Ewing, follow Lori on Twitter @Ewingsports.
“Running without bling is called training,” said a racer on iRun’s Facebook page when we suggested, perhaps, that it’s time to do away with medals and T-shirts. However, given the supply chain difficulties and the environmental factors behind supplying racers with medals and shirts, iRun asked our community about their feelings for giving up the racing accoutrements that have become part of the sport. “I wish there was an option to not get either the shirt or medal and instead the money could be donated to a charity that promotes running/active living/gives out free running shoes to the needy,” wrote one reader. “That would make me feel so much better about the higher race entry fees.”
As you can imagine, opinions varied—and were intense.
“Medals—yes, as they act as a fun souvenir for me, especially if it is a destination race or a goal race. Shirts—no, being plus-sized, rarely do I find one that fits. Would rather see shirts as paid option upon registration,” wrote one reader.
Another runner wrote: “I LOVE the medal! I have lured many new runners into races because of the medal. It’s all about the bling! However, I don’t care for a T-shirt. They are usually ugly and fit poorly. I only wear about 10% of my race shirts. I like it when events offer the shirt as a separate cost at registration.”
“For a marathon or half-marathon,” wrote another reader, “I do like to receive a medal, placed around my neck by a volunteer. It cements the accomplishment.“
A race director I know is thinking about capping registration at his event because of a difficulty securing enough shirts and medals. This means people might not have the chance to race because the director can’t get enough swag. Meanwhile, the race director of the Calgary Marathon said that she’s not worried about the safety of her event—but she is worried about getting the stuff to give away to the runners. The stuff is important. We like it.
Do we need it?
“My half marathon medal truly means so much to me,” a reader told me.
“The medals I got for virtual runs during the pandemic mean more to me than most of the in person ones. My running group got me through some of darkest days working in public health,” one reader said. “We celebrated our Chili half and full Boston outside with tailgate parties. T shirts are always fun to get.”
“I love getting both medal and T-shirt,” a reader said. “If you make the commitment you deserve to have both!!”
That’s the tricky thing about races and T-shirts. Lots of readers told us that if they’re running a destination event, like the Boston Marathon, they absolutely want the shirt. And that if it’s an event they’ve trained hard for then the medal or shirt becomes very important. But one person’s bucket list race is another person’s training run. So how do you please everybody? It’s a difficult concept, and the world, especially now, is challenging. Do we want to eliminate people’s joy? A joy that is healthy? Change, however, by definition, always is painful. What’s an event organizer to do? Listening to our readers, the jury’s out.
“I have too many medals and shirts,” a reader said. “Knock down the cost of the race and make those optional add-on for extra cost.“
Another reader said: “Medals were cool when I started running, but now they sit in a box.“
“I’m not interested in the medals anymore and I only get the T-shirt if I really like the design, but when I first started running 13 years ago, the medal meant a lot more to me and the T-shirts helped me build up my running wardrobe,” wrote a reader: “It would be nice to be given the option on having them or not.“
The problem with giving participants the option of ordering shirts and medals in exchange for paying a bit more for a race bib is that it makes it difficult for a race director to order the prizes, which often come from China. In the end, lots of new people are getting into running and the goal is to have them fall in love with our sport. If receiving a medal or a T-shirt for their effort will help solidify a positive experience, then it’s possibly worth keeping the tradition, despite the environmental impact and current difficulty in securing the items. People, like my son pictured below, do love their bling.
“I love getting a medal to show my accomplishments of a race I worked hard for,” said a reader.
“I don’t care about T-shirts, but the medals are important to me,” a reader said. “I display them as a reminder of what I am capable of, but also as an inspiration for my daughter.“
“I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve run some marathons and other races in large part because of the bling. I keep all my medals in a cabinet I purposely built for that, therefore I’m forced to admit that it is important to me.”
What do you think? Should races cut out the medal and shirts? Would you run a race if there was no medal? Let us know your thoughts and let’s keep the conversation going. Please know that the race directors across the country are interested in your thoughts and they’re making these decisions as we speak.
Last Friday night, I was chatting with a friend online, and they mentioned that they had received a snowfall warning on their phone. This friend knows I’m a runner, and they know that that’s the sort of thing I’d like to know. I opened my own weather app and saw that the snow was due to arrive Saturday night, dumping 5-10cm before my Sunday morning long run.
Before the pandemic, I trained for the Around the Bay 30k road race for five consecutive winters. There were winters when it felt like it never snowed, except every Saturday night into Sunday, so my long runs were always done in the worst conditions. In December 2021 alone, there was one Sunday morning with a fresh snowfall, and another where the whole city was ice. In all of these cases, as with last weekend, I could have moved my long run to Saturday. I could have run indoors on a treadmill. But in all of those cases, I didn’t change my plans, and I probably won’t the next time I see snow on the forecast for a Saturday night.
I’m not a masochist. I don’t get off on being a hero by running when the going gets tough. Sure, I love winter running. I like the feeling of being outdoors when the temperatures are cold and the contrast when my body gets warm and sweat pools under my layers. But I don’t enjoy running in fresh snow, particularly as a runner with historically weak ankles. I definitely don’t enjoy running on ice, activating stabilizer muscles I never knew I possessed, tensing my body with every precarious step. But I will do it, and have done it, every winter for the better part of the last two decades, every Sunday morning, regardless of the forecast. Not because I’m a hero, but because I don’t know what else to do. And because maybe I’ll look up on that tough run and notice how beautiful the city looks in snow. Or maybe I’ll see a sunrise full of colours I didn’t know existed. It’s not a guarantee that there will be beauty in every run, but it’s the possibility that’s enough. And it’s the knowledge that when the run is done, I’ll be a slightly better runner, because I did it, even though it was hard.
Parents in Ontario, where I live, are facing another round of uncertainty and stress in the face of another school closure and rising case numbers of COVID-19. We feel helpless, powerless, confused, angry, frustrated, and disheartened. And we don’t know what to do. Some of us will choose to send our kids if schools are open. Some will choose to keep them home. It’s impossible to know what’s safest or what’s best.
We don’t know what to do. It’s hard.
I recently listened to a podcast interview with Dr Anna Lembke, author of the book DOPAMINE NATION, where she explained that pleasure and pain are co-located in the brain. There’s a whole bunch of science behind it, but one point that stuck with me was this: in order to get our bodies to produce dopamine naturally (rather than chasing it through addictive substances or behaviours) we can and should engage in what she calls “effortful tasks,” things that are not easy, on a daily basis. Some examples she mentioned included meditation and exercise, but I couldn’t help but think of this advice in the context of running. No one I know puts more daily effort into their lives than runners, especially runners who are also trying to fit running around their jobs or lives as parents. By doing so, we may be temporarily pushing the pain button in our brains, but we’re also making it easier to access pleasure.
As a parent in Ontario, a parent who is also a teacher, the last two years of my life have been challenging in ways I could have never anticipated. If I hadn’t also been waking up every morning and lacing up my running shoes (or getting on my bike, in the interest of injury mitigation, or going for a walk or a swim), these last two years would have been immeasurably harder. As we face another hard season, all I can do is to keep opening up those moments for pleasure, by pressing a little bit on the side of pain.
I don’t actually like the expression, “We can do hard things.” I don’t know why, it just never resonated with me. Maybe I’ve found a new version: “We can do the things we need to do, especially when it’s hard.”
November 14, 2021, I ran the 10k Fat Ass Trail Race in Batawa, Ontario, just north of Trenton. I was the second woman to cross the line, and an old rival, Shannon McMinn, was the first. We were 7th and 8th overall out of 86 runners, finishing 13 seconds apart. Two weeks to the day earlier, I had become an aunt, so I dedicated my silver medal finish to my brand new baby nephew. But my road to this fateful race, where I earned the privilege of communing with my soul on the gruelling course, racked up my first piece of silverware in well over a decade, and reunited with an old rival turned new dear friend, was a long and winding one, and perhaps some of you will read my story and relate—or get curious about what racing (again) could hold for you in 2022 and beyond.
For me, much of life is waiting, but running is being, and racing is coming alive.
32 years full of so much and it’s still my favourite thing on earth to do. It is life on another plane. It is transcendental magic. Racing, we inevitably run into our souls and slip momentarily into all we are meant to be. We come alive. When hundreds of people are there together on that elevated plane…Well, it’s like Prefontaine said: “Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run.”
I’ve been in love with running since I could run, which is to say, since I was a toddler. And so, when I rounded out high school with 3 LOSSA cross-country team titles and 3 individual medals, along with 1 LOSSA track gold and many silvers and bronzes, 4 straight OFSAA cross-country performances, and a graduating female athlete of the year award from my high school, and then went on to run cross-country and track at Queen’s University, living and training with Leslie Sexton my 2nd year, one might be surprised to hear that my Fat Ass silver arrived on the heels of a decade riddled with injuries which sidelined me from running and racing entirely. My journey back has been life-affirming; simultaneously grounding and exhilarating, and I wonder how many of your journeys could be as well.
I came to run the Fat Ass 10k while reeling from the recent loss of my job, sacked a mere 72 hours after completing my first marathon in October as it turns out, and mulling ways to keep my spirits up for my partner who had suddenly become our family’s sole breadwinner, I realized that old habits die hard, and that the very best thing I could do for my morale and for my family’s well being, was to race. To race like my heart depended on it, because it did, and to run like the wind, because in so doing, I always, always found freedom, and ran into my soul, which were the two things my family and I needed most. So I signed up on a whim, after scouring the internet for an in-person race, close enough and affordable enough, for broke, jobless relocated Ottawan me to afford. I found Fat Ass. At $25 I could afford this; it would be a worthwhile investment besides. But only the 5.5k had spots left at this late date, mere days before the event. Luckily for me, another runner couldn’t make the 10k and, in typical running community style, generously gave me her bib. Little did either of us know it would really change the course of my life over the next few months. Of course I barely slept the night before; typical for me before races, and my pup woke me up before dawn anyway, in time for me to make the early morning trek across the province for a date with my soul, and an old nemesis as it would turn out. This would be my first cross-country race in 13 years, since the fall of ‘08, and I thought to myself in the days leading up, and on the drive out the morning of, “I would like to see if I can place in my age group. I’d love to do that for my nephew.” Little did I know that I still got it, as the kids say.
I should back up a tad though, to explain that, three frigid Januaries ago, after a decade of being plagued by more injuries and pain than I care to ever relive, I found myself on my third date with my now common law partner, detailing my love of running, when he, perceptive as they come, remarked, “You’ll be like a bird with clipped wings until you run again.” I grimaced. I knew. He had hit the nail on the head, wording it like that. But I also knew I couldn’t run, probably ever again; something was very, very wrong, even by my masochistic distance running standards. “I have a guy who will fix you,” he continued. “Yeah right,” I said with my eyes. “Seriously. He fixed me.” (My partner was and is a powerlifter whose masochism puts mine to shame.) “I really think he can fix you.” He paused. “But if he can’t, no one can.” My last chance. This is what I had been waiting for for so long. I was far too scared to cash that ticket though. Running was my first love, you see, and I was very much a bird with clipped wings, sitting there at 29, separated from myself; I had to have hope, however absurd, that I could run again one day, if I couldn’t have running itself. By July I finally worked up the nerve to go see Adam Dunitz at the Ottawa Sport and Health Centre. He did fix me. I’m still stunned and overwhelmed with gratitude. It took time, a plethora of patience, courage, and faith in my peculiar calling to run, but Adam fixed me, the only practitioner out of dozens I’ve seen over the decades who has healed my legs; the only one who understands the human body completely inside out. And so I came to find myself reunited with myself and on the way to my second race in as many months, a year and a bit into really running again after a decade’s hiatus.
As the nerves built on the last stretch of my drive, I determined I would cross that line beaming, softened and wizened some by the years as I had been. I would bask in the glory of freedom and transcendence which putting one foot in front of the other brings. In fact, after my marathon, I was actually excited for my date with the sneakiest hypnosis known to man; the Valhalla underfoot; the Nirvana within; the secrets of the soul, its “open sesame” accessible to all of us, every one, if and when we gather the courage.
And so, 10 treacherous kilometres later, gold went to the perennially indomitable, tough as nails, kind as they come, heart of goldShannon McMinn. It was wonderful to reunite on course and cheer for and push each other again as we passed each other back and forth, (two decades after we had done so dozens of times), through rain, hail, near-cliffs (up and down), shin-deep creeks, and Heart Lake-level mud; a course truly not for the faint of heart. (“You used to run withAmber!” she opened with, breathlessly, mid-course. Amber Cushnie, OFSAA 3,000m champ, steeplechase bronze medallist, and my high school team-mate, she was referring to.) It turns out that half a lifetime later, Shannon remembered me for the way I cheered everyone on back at high school meets. I always knew we were doing something special back in our glory days, I thought to myself. Before our 10k was over, we crossed paths with another old LOSSA mainstay, Trevor Dieleman, finishing up his first 50k ultra, but still somehow with energy to cheer us on as we flew by and I breathlessly shouted, “Hey! I remember you!”
Shannon and I stood there after our victory, elated, (we still got it; we were born to beat boys) and simultaneously bewildered by the times we used to pull, daily and weekly; the levels 2000s LOSSA pushed us to (led on the boys’ side by Matt Hughes).
Like so many thousands of times before, I was reminded of my favourite essay, penned by Roger Hart, which ends, “And what did we learn from running 70,000 miles and hundreds of races, being the first to cross the finish line and once or twice not crossing it at all, those runs on icy roads in winter storms and those cool fall mornings when the air was ripe with the smell of grapes, our feet softly ticking against the pavement?
“We learned we were alive, and it felt good. God, it felt so good.”
After high school ended, we both dispersed into the melee of post-secondary education amidst the ever-increasing travails of our personal lives, and it would be a decade and a half before we ran, literally, into each other again. But cheering for each other on those final switchbacks of our 10k in Batawa was akin to being in the company of one’s oldest, dearest friend, and the joy in both our voices as we brokenly shouted across the hills was palpable, almost tangible. We had bled for this jubilation, and we were cheering for each other with all the triumph which suffering and wisdom bring. We pushed ourselves a little too hard in our youth to ever get a word out mid-race. But here we were, in our 30s, having conquered ourselves and so much else, filled with all the elation in the world, and the euphoria of crossing that line and breathlessly asking each other if we were the first women over the line, was the kind of feeling people search their entire lives and the world over for. And we found it hidden like a treasure in the hills of Batawa. Or even more precisely, in our souls. Just then, as we were catching our breaths, a man who we had passed back and forth over the gruelling 10K, crossed the line and told us he’d be telling his 5-year-old daughter that two women beat him. My mind tripped, and for a second, I kicked myself for what I deemed to be a couple strategic errors in my racing, until I realized that had I not made them, this new old friend would have been lost to time and distance, which of course running has the special power of warping. Shannon and I talked and talked, introverts infected with runner’s high, shy souls imbued with the confidence which running into your soul and finding it is so strong, gives; so we talked and talked, catching up on so much and so many people we once knew, many Olympians and Ironmen now, others no longer running, and reminiscing about our glory days, and then, just like that, we reached Shannon’s car, soaked and freezing, and departed, without even a picture for photo evidence, the elusive way of the long-distance runner; the mysterious and magical other-world fleeting already, though accessible to us at any time we cared to lace up and gather the courage again…
Even as I type this, so much of what I’m referencing has slipped away, just beyond my grasp, like water or sand through one’s hand; there truly is no substitute in my experience; this life on another plane is not for sale on any old corner, and yet, as it goes in “Once A Runner,” “[that old familiar feeling comes right back]” every time the gun goes. And everything else falls away. Long after the legs stop flying in all the ways they used to, and long after the rest of life has damaged your spirit. The encapsulation of the magic of my marathon (the Muskoka Marathon, October 3rd) is even further from my grasp now, but running is a rock in a nebulous world, racing an anchor in a very stormy sea; a way back to all we are meant to be.
And so, that second place finish imbued me with an energy and a reinvigorated confidence in myself as I once again grappled with so much in life outside of running, and moreover, while Shannon and I never got to know each other well in high school, now, in our 30s, we have come to learn we both endured uncannily similar hardships and tragedies in our respective youths, and both came out the other side okay—specifically thanks to running. It’s a tale as old as time I know; running being the rock in someone’s life, but for each individual it really can’t be understated, how special and important running is, and for youth in particular, it makes all the difference in the world in terms of the direction of their lives.
For Shannon and I, blessedly, we both had coaches who believed in us from the start, and teams who loved us and let us be ourselves, Shannon’s donning green ribbons in their hair at races, and mine maroon nail polish and cheering for days; my coach, Amanda Miles-Berry and her sister Angela reading Roger Hart’s Essay on Running to us before an OFSAA race, and Shannon’s coach, Bill Cunliffe, showing her team “Without Limits,” helping us make that fraught but all-important journey into truly believing in ourselves. Before my silver medal LOSSA XC senior girls’ performance in ‘05, while tying my spikes on that crowded, frantic start line, my life off-course more challenging than I’d wish on any 16 year old, my coach, Berry as we called her, told me calmly and firmly, “You can do this, Emma.” That became my mantra. I repeated it many times the morning of the Fat Ass trail race. I repeat it to myself at some point most days of my life. It stuck because of the perfect faith with which my coach said it. Anyway, our coaches have kept in touch with both of us, and remain a guiding force in our lives.
My coach now is my canine, my little black lab bestie, who gets me out the door every day. Through COVID, running has been my antidote to life’s chains, and also, to the depression which has ripped through my family like a runaway freight train, and which is always at my door, and sometimes in my bed or head with me. My pup reminds me it doesn’t matter how long you run for or how fast or far you go; once you’re out the door, you’ll be okay. And by the time you’re nearing home again, you’ll be happy; happy to be alive. My training is unorthodox to say the least; no watch, not enough mileage by marathon-training standards, and just endless fartleks basically, my dog leading me on the chase for the perfect stick and the perfect dog to greet, and keeping me honest about how fast fast running really is. But my training seems to have just enough heart and soul to lead me back to that buried treasure within, and so, for about an hour a day, everything is okay.
After our victory (and that is what it ended up feeling like; *our* victory) at Fat Ass, Shannon and I launched into catching each other up on the last couple decades, including various ordeals we were both facing in light of COVID, and, of course, traded names of races we were each entered in in hopes the other could join us. We hoped for the chance at a reunion run in December, but alas, Christmas came and went with life cooking up many new tests for both of us, and so, talking had to suffice in keeping our spirits up. The thing with long-distance runners is that we are natural cheerleaders, peculiarly shy beasts who come alive when impassioned by the fires of our souls and soles. On course or off, it is our default. So we cheered each other on, through medical challenges and car trouble, job and lack of job stress, running injury, a serious health scare for my month old nephew, and a run-in with a sleeping driver which ended in my beloved bicycle being totalled (I activated my inner ninja and came out unscratched thankfully), and the general malaise par for the course in today’s COVID world.
Two nights ago, mere hours, blessedly unbeknownst to us, before Doug Ford announced our latest lockdown, Shannon found herself sifting through old videos, photos, and results, organizing her running past so to speak, when she fell upon remarkably grainy footage of our last LOSSA cross-country race, from October of ‘06, with me leading the way in first, and Shannon not too far behind. My step-son and shift-working partner asleep and my pup curled up for the night, I checked Facebook, and found myself happy as a kid on Christmas morning at this glorious footage in my messages. And so we talked and the weights of this world briefly faded away. New friends but long lost ones all at once is what we are; we get each other, and that means something in this life, especially at this uniquely isolating juncture in history, on the eve of yet another lockdown. When I finally tried to sleep, far too pumped up to actually do so, a sobering reality hit me. The footage I had just watched on repeat was not just footage of yet another awe-inspiring performance on the heels of three straight LOSSA team titles and individual medals, albeit belying how hard we worked, how much we suffered for that trophy year after year, and how much personal effort, and love and belief in me from the best coach and team on the planet it took to propel me over the earth and its punishing courses at such ungodly speeds. No, there was more, a lot more. This footage was from the most tumultuous week of my life, harrowing to think back on even now, even with 15 years of space and life in between. But this is the strength of the human spirit on sport; this is the transcendence about which I write.
How many of us toeing the line that day were enduring our own secret hells? But such is the power of races, to tilt the world and each of us, towards good, towards the strength of our souls. And that is no small thing.
I’m off now, to run with my canine sidekick, and catch up more with my newfound long lost friend, Shannon. Whatever 2022 brings, and it has the St. Lawrence Marathon in store for me in April to kick off the spring season, I know I will get through it all, and I believe you can too, one step at a time. I wish all of you the very best for 2022 and hope you brave the trails and the roads and the treadmills, and find out there just how strong you are and just how good it feels to be alive. I also hope I have the privilege of meeting some of you! Happy Running, guys.
Nothing is for certain, obviously. But the Running Room plans to host in-person racing this February with their popular Hypothermic Half events across the country and it came as a jolt of joyful relief when I spoke with Kelly and Marc Arnott, long-time race directors of the Chilly Half in Burlington, Ontario, and they said their race is a go. “I reached out to my MP and MPP and we’re sitting tight to see what happens after this big wave hopefully subsides, but we are definitely hoping that our Chilly will happen—we have two full months to go! ”
Vancouver’s First Half marathon in-person is sold-out on February 13 with 2,000 runners and the Chilly Half Marathon is scheduled for March 6. Brian McLean has been the long-time race director of the Achilles St. Patrick’s Day Race, celebrating its twenty-third anniversary on March 13. McLean also says his 1K and 5K race with a capacity of 1,500 is a go. “As of the beginning of December, city officials gave us the green light and we haven’t heard anything since,” says McLean, who feels good about the likelihood of his race happening. He’s moving forward under the thesis that the event, with COVID precautions, will proceed. “It’s our biggest and only fundraiser for our Achilles athletes, those with disabilities,” says McLean, adding that minus the in-person racing component, his charity suffers. “I see people want to get back to in-person racing and the minute we opened registration, we saw a huge spike in people signing up. Runners want racing back.”
Speaking with the race directors from Calgary to Winnipeg, Regina, Quebec City, Ottawa and Toronto, the consensus amongst the industry leaders is their in-person races should all proceed. “I am confident that with full vaccination requirements and (likely) COVID protocols in place, that we will be able to hold our event as planned,” says Rachel Munday, race director of the Manitoba Marathon. “Our runners, volunteers, sponsors and city officials are still expecting and planning for an in-person event. Whereas last year they definitely expected them NOT to happen. If this wave continues on the current trajectory, it should be well passed it’s peak in the coming weeks and we can look forward to events in the late spring/summer/fall.”
Marc Roy is the CEO of Sportstats who has 45 in-person events in Canada booked between now and the end of spring—and another 60 in the United States. “Our first event in the US is on January 14-15 (Rock’n’Roll Arizona) with 17,000 races already registered,” says Roy, who’s bullish on events, even in Canada, proceeding in-person as normal, especially as move into February. Roy also started Virtual Run Canada and thinks hybrid models like the one employed by Canada Running Series at their fall 10K between virtual and in-person racing will remain popular in 2022. “We strongly believe virtual events are there to stay. They keep some participants motivated, but also introduce many to the sport that might not want to do a 5K with 500 participants.”
One thought for racers returning to the sport we love, whether virtual or in-person, is knowing that the event organizers are facing supply chain issues. Appreciate that these events are happening and so, if they don’t have your sized T-shirt—be kind. In Calgary, Kirsten Fleming, says she’s bullish on her events happening. It’s the other stuff that she wonders about. “Our concerns—like all race directors and frankly most industries throughout the world—are mostly about navigating supply chain issues and rising costs, not operating safely. That we can do,” says Fleming, of the Calgary Marathon, whose team successfully put on five COVID in-person races and never saw an outbreak. “We are taking what we have learned, building on the experience to bring back some of the aspects we did without in 2021 while keeping people safe as we always do.”
January can be a tough month in the best of times. During these unprecedented times, it’s nice to know that our race directors—the people who provide us with starting and finish lines for our goals—are all working together on making sure their events proceed. “Racing builds more than fitness,” says Running Room founder John Stanton. “It develops friendships, and empowers us by testing the limits of the human spirit.”
With winter training, it can be helpful knowing that there’s a race happening in the spring. People, by nature, are goal-oriented. Anna Lewis, the Around the Bay race director hosting the 128th anniversary of her event on March 27, summed up the current scenario. “We are working towards hosting Around The Bay and will continue planning until advised otherwise,” she said. “We are preparing for several scenarios with various start line schedules and protocols. We will be ready to implement the most appropriate plan when we have more definitive guidelines. We are in touch with our city officials regularly and want to ensure we work within provincial and public health guidelines to ensure a safe event for everyone. It is our hope that the collective “we” will be in a much better place in early March so that we could move forward.“
That hope, for a runner in January, might just be enough to pull us through these tough next few weeks.
About two kilometers into a 10K race course there’s a hungry alpaca eyeing the apple in my hand, likely wondering if I’ll give it over. I do with a smile because alpacas (even hungry ones) always look happy, much like many of the runners I’ve met here today. This is the Dump Run and it’s exactly the kind of community race everyone needs to round out what has been yet another year in which nothing went as expected, least of all racing. Feeding these alpacas is one of the features of this 10K race that also includes dropping off Cheezies to a garbage dump keeper, and picking up trash along the race course which covers a stretch of the Trans-Canada Highway, about 30 minutes north of Sault Ste. Marie, Ont. Needless to say, this is not your average 10K race. Race director Nick Brash is also an ultra trail runner and organizer of the Ultra Trail Stokely Creek (September 22-24, 2002). Along with the Dump Run, Brash’s company Bear In Mind Running offers several other races each with a unique twist which has contributed to the popularity among the local running and cycling community. “These events are about more than racing,” explains Brash, “It’s about opening up to the idea of racing for runners at every level and ability, creating an inclusive community.”
Photo: Dan Grisdale
When you talk with Brash, you quickly realize exactly how much he genuinely enjoys running. He also has a passion and love for the trails in the Algoma Highlands, in particular the 160 km trails spanning Stokely Creek. Basically, he wants just about anyone who can, to have as much fun as he does and judging from the runners I speak to on and off the race course, there’s no question they do. “There’s so much to see, so many incredible trails that people just don’t know about right in their backyard,” he says. While the race draws seasoned runners including multiple Boston marathoners, it’s the low-pressure, community driven atmosphere that also attracts new runners who are looking to complete their first race. An open start time between 9am and 5pm allowed runners to start safely at any point, while using their own devices to log their finishing times.
Photo Credit: Dan Grisdale
Nicole Pyykonen understands how intimidating that first race can be. As a local run crew leader Pyykonen says its events like the Dump Run that give new runners a goal to aim for while still easing into their first race day experience. After several years of trying to stick with a regular running routine on her own, it wasn’t until she got her dog, a Labrador Golden Retriever mix, that she finally held to her training schedule. “Having a dog meant I had no excuse even if I didn’t want to, I knew I had no choice but to get us both out the door,” she explains. With her running companion, she was able to build a consistent training schedule that took her to training for a 15K at the 2019 Ultra Trail Stokely Creek Race. “When COVID hit I knew I needed something more to keep me motivated,” she explains. “Running is about making it fun, and when I learned more about Nick’s other events including the Dump Run, I knew this was my way to keep going and stay connected with other runners.”
Photo Credit: Dan Grisdale
At the 3.5K point, an aid station serves up a selection of unconventional snacks, beverages including beer and the conversation flows easily among runners, some of whom have already claimed their race medal and are headed back to the finish line. The beauty of an out-and-back race course means this is an aid station for runners heading back at the 6.5K point. After dropping off Cheezies to the Haviland Garbage Dump Manager (its his favourite snack food) and claiming your race medal, it’s onto the finish line and a post-race bonfire and barbeque the includes traditional bratwurst along with vegetarian options.
Photo Credit: Dan Grisdale
Crossing the finish line brings more than a sense of accomplishment, there’s a sense of warmth that comes from being a part of a race that’s run on the love and enjoyment of this sport. In the subzero temperature, the warmth of the running community is palpable. It is an inviting and invigorating feeling, a glowing reminder of what we have all been missing these past eighteen months—a real human connection. Standing around the bonfire, a playlist pumping from the speakers as Brash announces runners starting and finishing their race, I’m now basking in the warmth of the sunshine peaking through the clouds. It’s clear that Brash is onto something here. We all know that running can be about much more than the sport itself. What is also clear is that events including the Dump Run are uniting a community, whether or not you take part in the sport, running really does connect us all in rather unique and unexpected ways.
Anna Lee Boschetto is a regular iRun contributor, runner and fitness enthusiast.
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