A few of us huddled together in close proximity in the back of a cube van, trying to stay warm as we waited for the appointed hour. A different group, seemingly immune to the cold, stood bravely in the brisk morning air, chatting enthusiastically in t-shirts and singlets. A call went out and we all marched together to the start line, shoulder to shoulder. Nobody wore a mask. There was no social distancing.
It was a small, quaint, well-organized event: the Seaside Marathon in Ventura, California, a double-loop along Highway 1 north of Los Angeles, with the sun slowly rising over the majestic Pacific. When it was over, I high-fived a bunch of sweaty strangers. There was no hand sanitizer in sight.
It was February 16, 2020. You always know when you’re doing something for the first time. But it might take a while to realize it was the last.
I never take any race for granted. And marathons are particularly special. Any day you run 42.2k is a good one. So while there was nothing noteworthy about my performance that day, I celebrated privately. I took satisfaction in adding another result to my spreadsheet. Another notch on the race belt. But if I’d known how long it would be before I’d cross another finish line, I might have savoured it a bit longer.
I needn’t remind you that only a few weeks later, everything changed. Who hasn’t reflected this month on what they were doing just over a year ago, having friends over, meeting in restaurants, entering buildings bare-faced and shaking hands without a care in the world?
No matter how jarring the lockdown, in the early days a foolish optimism prevailed. A century removed from the last global pandemic, we were clueless rookies with no understanding of the facts that were already evident. Some late spring events held off on cancelling; maybe this thing will only last a few weeks! Others postponed, because no matter what, we’d be racing again in the fall.
We were like complete novices showing up at the start line of a marathon, not only with zero training, but having not even looked up the distance on the internet. We can get through this! It will be over soon!
A year later, with those same spring events now removed from the calendar for a second time, we are a much more sombre people. It’s like when the marathon course gets quiet, somewhere around 34 or 35 kilometres in. The nervous energy of the first half has dissipated. The finish line is too far away to contemplate. The conversation has stopped. The trudging has begun.
Perhaps it’s the cumulative effect of another Canadian winter, another season of cancellations and closures and sobering news of vaccine delays, and the monotony of every day seeming just like the last. The fatigue is palpable and hope has ebbed. I haven’t even bothered to book a flight for a destination marathon for which I’m registered this fall. May feels like a long way off; September is like Jupiter.
But is it possible that just as we were too hopeful a year ago, we are now a tad too pessimistic? Dare I speculate that we are closer to the end than the beginning? The vaccine dominos are about to fall. The temperatures are getting warmer. Soon we’ll be able to gather, in small numbers, outdoors. Surely it can’t be that long before a small race or two can happen, before someone will place a medal around our neck instead of dropping it in the mail.
If we have learned one thing from our training, it’s the magic of incrementalism. It’s been a long, demoralizing, perplexing journey. But no matter how tedious and wearisome (and cold) have been the past few months, the first day of spring is upon us. We can’t see it yet, but there’s another finish line out there somewhere.
Mariah Kelly has just completed 14-days of quarantine and is comfortable back home in Victoria, B.C. Kelly competed at the New Balance Grand Prix World Indoor Track and Field Tour, her first race in a year. The event gave her—along with six other Canadian athletes—the opportunity to not only compete, but also earn points that affect an athlete’s world ranking and possibly their Olympic qualification.
This event kicks off the indoor track season and, after a good 2020 race season, the Niagara, Ontario-native came out in 2021 even better. Her PB in 1,500 is 4:09:38. In 2019, she ran 800m in 2:03:20. And 1,500m in 4:10:62. These are amongst some of the fastest Canadian finishing times we’ve seen.
Ask Kelly and she’ll tell you candidly that it has been a challenging year for her. She had many reasons to evaluate everything from her training to her relationships with her teammates to her husband, and herself.
Kelly is no stranger to hard work. On the track she has never been the fastest runner, and that only made her dig in deeper. She quickly became known to her coaches and teammates as one of the hardest working mid-distance runners in the country. Kelly’s work ethic, grit and willingness to take an unconventional path is how she landed a full scholarship at Baylor. Known for producing a strong contingent of track and field athletes including Olympians Michael Johnson and Jeremy Wairner, Kelly knew the University’s track and field program was where she needed to be if she was going to compete at the Olympics—a goal which had been her focus nearly as long as the 29-year-old had been running.
“From day one, my goal was to go to the Olympics,” she says, “However, even from day one, and honestly up until this point, I have yet to put any ‘Olympic status’ performances on paper that suggests I have what it takes to compete at that level. And honestly, many have said I don’t—but I know I do and the people who matter most to me believe that I do. Having their support and knowing deep inside I have what it takes is all I need. I still haven’t figured out how to bring it to the surface just yet but I will and every day I get a little closer.”
Growing up, Kelly played most everything, but fell in love with running after winning a cross-country race that her mother had registered her in. Eventually, she joined a local track club and began training as a mid-distance runner. Kelly’s focus is admirable. That said, in her self-reflection she recognizes how she may not always have been the best teammate. “I have always been extremely competitive, with others and with myself. I think that competitiveness came from having a strong desire to prove myself. I wanted to prove I belonged. I wanted to prove I was good enough; prove it to my teammates, my coaches, but mostly prove it to myself. And workouts were a place I could attain some of that validation I was desperately seeking.”
During workouts with her teammates, she would act so overly confident that she would set training paces that she was incapable of running at the time, all in an effort to prove herself. Needless to say, she wanted to fit in with the rest of her team, but finding her way wasn’t easy. “Most people would say I’m outgoing, loud and confident, but the truth is that over those first few years as a professional runner, I was really insecure and I felt like I didn’t belong.” she says.
“My ego begged for reassurance every day and every time I gave in.”
Some of my training partners took some of my behavior personally and it affected them negatively. At the time I refused to see it from their perspective. I lacked remorse along with compassion. It’s taken a lot of self reflection and work to realize I was being so ego-centric and ego driven. Taking ownership of that and then taking the necessary steps to make amends and create change is the best thing I ever did.”
For Kelly, it was the situation surrounding George Floyd that changed her worldview. In 2012, she started dating Dennis Scruggs, a Black teammate of hers at Baylor. Three years later, the two graduated and Dennis joined Kelly in Canada. They signed a commonwealth marriage license so that they could apply for permanent residency and so that Dennis could work and live in Canada. However, Dennis surprised her with an official marriage proposal in 2018 and they were set to have an official wedding ceremony in Los Cabos, Mexico, with family and friends, September 5th 2020. Obviously, due to the pandemic, they had to cancel those plans, and in the ensuing time, Kelly says began to question her privilege and felt like she could no longer deny the opportunities she had taken for granted for most of her life. She’s been candid about her journey. “I had seen some inappropriate actions and heard the ignorant comments, I even thought, at the time, that I understood my own privilege, but it all felt different than ever before,” she says. More than anything, the striking difference for Kelly is in the moments she wouldn’t usually think about. “I don’t go outside and have to consider someone may be looking at me as a bad person because of the colour of my skin,” she says. Her husband Dennis does.
While they were both on athletic scholarships, Kelly says that she and Dennis had a very different focus. While she was able to chase her athletic aspirations along with her academics, for him, an athletic scholarship was his sole opportunity for a university degree, and ultimately, a better life. Raised by a single mom who worked multiple jobs, money was tight. To increase his chances for an athletic scholarship, Dennis studied at a community college, training on the track team, and waiting for his shot at a D1 school where athletic scholarships are aplenty.“It’s different when you have your family encouraging you along the way, versus feeling alone as he felt,” says Kelly, who has seen her platform grow on social media as she publicly wrestles with her surroundings. “For me, money was never a concern. I never had to worry about how I would afford to eat, or pay for school. I was aware that I had a security that he didn’t have, but I don’t think I understood what that felt like. I realize now that I took my own privilege for granted.”
Both her running and attitude have converged, adding a layer of strength to Kelly’s character both on and off the track. She has an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the belief Dennis has had in her and his commitment to her Olympic goals. “Part of him retired so that he could support me, and he continues to,” Kelly says. “There’s not a day that passes where I don’t think about it.” There have been many times in the past months when she’s become overcome with emotion. “After being with someone for eight years, knowing this is what they have gone through their entire lives and that they have tried to open up, but you were so closed off and consumed in your own world that you didn’t really hear it, understand it or see it, but most of all you didn’t feel it, that was a devastating realization for me,” she says. “I felt like I was a part of the problem and I believe I was.”
Beyond her personal awareness, Kelly is committed to talking about the issues her husband and other Black athletes have and continue to encounter. While she openly speaks out about her own experience and how she could have (and is) doing a better job of listening with a compassionate ear, she acknowledges there is much more work to be done to even the playing field so that athletes who want a post-collegiate career are able to have one regardless of their socio-economic circumstances. Dennis Scruggs is also wrestling with his approach to the world.
“In my last performance on the track I came in last place at the Big 12 Championship meet,” he says. “I was devastated and heartbroken and the first thing I did was isolate myself at the back of the hotel, cry and call my grandma. She didn’t understand my disappointment. None of my family ever truly understood any of my accomplishments or struggles in the sport. At that moment I felt so alone.”
Scruggs says that, as his relationship with Mariah grew and he continued to watch her pour her entire soul into the sport, the only thing he was sure of was that he was not going to let her experience what he had. “I wanted to be that person who helped her do it because when I tried I had no one and the feeling of having no one was much worse than the actual reality of having no one,” he says.
“To this day I wish I never gave up, but knowing Mariah is still at it and still pouring her entire soul into it gives me hope.”
Dennis also has thoughts he shares on Black Lives Matter. Like Mariah, it’s important to him now to share his voice. “Prior to 2020 my biggest concern was making sure that other people felt comfortable around me and often that was at my own expense,” he says. “For me, I had gotten so used to hiding my blackness that I didn’t even realize I was doing it anymore. People often say that ‘they don’t see color,’ well if you don’t see my blackness then you don’t see me. My main focus now is on making sure I stay true to myself and stand proud in my own skin.
Proud in her own skin is also something that Kelly has been working on, and now her focus is on securing her spot on the Canadian Olympic team. The 1,500m qualifying standard for Tokyo is 4:04:20. Her time at last month’s Grand Prix was 4:10:84. She’s run a 4:09:38 in 2017, but her plan is in place for more. There are four and a half months until the Olympics. In June, Canada will host the Olympic trials and in July the official Olympic team will be named. Kelly has a plan in place and the focus to put it all in motion to get there. In the meantime, she’s going to continue to make strides, and take it day-by-day.
“I think the most difficult thing in the world sometimes is the ability to truly put yourself in someone else’s shoes and really feel what they feel. I have struggled with this for a long time because I was too consumed in my own world. Fortunately for me, 2020 gave me the opportunity to do this more than I ever have throughout my entire life. The act of doing this so often gave me a new perspective, a new understanding, but most importantly it taught me how to be truly compassionate. It is difficult to take ownership of your shortcomings and admit to your faults and insecurities but if you can find the courage to say those things out loud all of the sudden they can’t weigh you down anymore. They can’t hold you back. You are no longer hiding from them. Owning my truth was scary but as soon as I did it I felt free. I let fear keep me from feeling the power of love but now I know that love is always the answer. You just have to be brave enough to let it shine through.”
It has been a cold and snowy February in Toronto. Days are short and grey, and warm endless June skies seem the furthest away.
I get the lazies every year around this time. I don’t do a whole lot of running. My usual 3 to 4 runs a week drops to one. I start my days sleeping in instead of watching the sunrise along the Martin Goodman Trail. The weekly mileage graph on my Strava goes from peaks to a flatline. You get the idea.
The mid-winter blahs are never a surprise to me. Neither is my annual running rut. For me, the missed runs come with a side of excuses and feeling bad about it. Whenever my friends text me to ask, “Did you run today?” I would sheepishly respond, “Nah, I’m going to skip today,” or “I’m feeling super tired from—insert normal activity here—so I’m going to push it to tomorrow.”
Every year I would feel guilty about feeling lazy. This year I decided to reframe my thinking. Why? Because the past 12 months have been filled with disappointment. Cancelled plans, not being able to see our friends and family, and doing everything we can to stay safe and stay sane. Pandemic life has robbed us of the simplest pleasures, but it hasn’t taken away my ability to roll out the door. So I didn’t want to beat myself up for taking a break and then add it to my list of disappointments. Now more than ever we need to take our wins where we can get them.
I decided to embrace the lazys. Like, I really leaned into it. I took off my smart watch. I removed everything running related from my front foyer. You can usually find no less than 3 pairs of running shoes, 2 pairs of sunglasses, and an assortment of hats, vests and neckwarmers. I cleared them all out and shoved them into the closet. In its place went my winter boots, my heavier winter boots and a pair of fuzzy slippers.
I put on those slippers and settled in to watch a lot of YouTube videos, mostly about running. I’d watch old races. I’d watch thousands of people funnelling into corrals, and wonder if we will ever see these days again. I’d watch the elites dial in their focus on the start line, and people cheering on the masses along the route.
I would watch the entire race, even when I knew the outcome. One of my favourites is the 2019 New York City Marathon. Geoffrey Kamworor crosses the finish line for his second win in the Big Apple and heads straight into the arms of his mentor, Eliud Kipchoge. I soaked up this motivation from the comfort of my couch.
I checked out some vloggers that I follow. Some of them are really fit and fast. Others are more like me, just trying to be a slightly better version of themselves. I especially like the ones that share their ups and downs and are most transparent about their process.
Everyday my friends would text me to ask, “Did you run today?” I would reply: “nope.” I moved my body in other ways. I walked to work. I did more strength and mobility. That’s a lie—I did strength and mobility for the first time in ages.
I took a break from running to eat all the snacks, and watch all the television. Now I am ready to lace up again. I am shaking the lazies by easing back into my old routine, a little bit at a time. Instead of a long run well into the double digits, I am happy with a 5k out and back along the MGT.
After a 2 month break from my running group, Stride Wise, I’ve recommitted to a training plan. I reached out to my coach Brittany Moran and she reminded me to be kind to myself.
“Do not expect to pick back up where you were, but do your best to embrace the journey to get back to that place,” says Moran. “Commit to consistency first, do not worry about workouts or paces just yet.”
A plan will also ensure that I don’t increase my mileage by too much too soon. I am considering a virtual race. Right now, registration is open for the Under Armour Spring Run-Off. Charlotte Brookes from Canada Running Series tells me it’s a great way to say goodbye to winter. “It celebrates the return of spring ,” says Brookes. I can head to the park any time during the month of April to run my version of the race and take in the scenery.And finally I am focussing on the reward. Sometimes that means an Epsom Salts bath while sipping on a cup of coffee.
Other times it’s simply being thankful that we got through another winter in this city and that I’m healthy and ready for the spring.
Robyn Michaud Turgeon finds it strange to step into a role that might be called inspirational or influential. “In the Anishinaabe community,” Robyn says, “we have the Seven Grandfather Teachings, including humility. Because that’s so ingrained, it’s hard to even sell yourself in a job interview.”
The “influencer culture” or language doesn’t come easy to Robyn, but throughout her 26 year career of teaching and just as many years of running—albeit with a few breaks here and there— she’s also understood the urgency with which a story like her’s needs to be heard.
“I think my whole life and career has been focused on Indigenous issues and history and as I work with Indigenous people, I still see the effects of residential school trauma and the need to change people’s views of what it means to be Indigenous,” Robyn explains.
It wasn’t just the views of non-Indigenous people, but the views of Indigenous persons and how they see themselves that needed tweaking. Robyn says, “It’s easy for BIPOC people to make a mistake and have it be magnified, so when I go into schools and there are usually so few Indigenous teachers, everything you do matters to these kids.”
Conscious of those teachings around humility, but also the need for her community to see new possibilities, Robyn, mother of four, has sought openness as well as living by example as her path to forge the changes she hopes to see in current and future generations. Her mission is not to promote herself, but to allow others to take from her journey. When it comes to running, the Indigenous Run Club in London, Ontario and the online Native Women Running community, have been Robyn’s conduits to inspire a healthy lifestyle and let her own teachings take root.
First, you can start late.
Robyn explains, “I was horrible at running as a child and couldn’t do it to save my life. I didn’t start until my first years of teaching, when during times of high stress I would just put on my shoes and run. It was the most natural form of antidepressant.”
Second, perfection is not the goal.
Running was a welcome reprieve for Robyn, who admits that her type-A personality benefited from doing something that she didn’t have to be great at. “I always saw being a runner as something you were or you weren’t and that if you were, you had to be skinny and ‘athletic looking,’” Robyn admits.
Like the students who can see someone from their community who has broken stereotypes, Robyn’s fellow members of the Indigenous Run Club and online communities have a new north star. In Robyn, they can see a self-described middle-aged woman, one who also contends with syringomyelia—characterized by a fluid filled cyst within the spinal cord that can lead to issues of pain, stiffness, atrophy, and loss of reflexes, among others—who has completed 19 marathons, including three majors, while looking nothing like the stereotypical runner.
Third, tell your story, but do so honestly.
Robyn speaks glowingly of Joel Kennedy, founder of the Indigenous Running Club. “He’s completely changed his life and gone from being overweight to running three marathons. With the prevalence of conditions like diabetes in the community, it’s so important to hear that,” Robyn says. “I’m proud to be of Anishinaabe and Ojibwe background and to be part of the Indigenous Running Club because we promote health in our communities.” In the Indigenous Running Club, Joel and fellow runners like Robyn have created a space where they hope journeys like their own can flourish. On the group’s weekly runs, says Robyn: “Even the grandmas come out for a two kilometre walk.”
There are upsides to running in a cemetery, especially during a pandemic: mainly, there’s not many people. It’s a large, quiet space free of cars and traffic and a cemetery, famously, is where the great Ed Whitlock trained before he ran away with the record book. Whitlock, who ran 2:54 at 73-years-old, once toldiRunof his choice of training destination: “On the roads, you have to look respectable. You go to the cemetery and, by comparison to everyone else there, you’re in good shape.”
Whitlock never took a dollar of sponsorship money and wore old shoes he modified himself with a razor blade. By any account, Whitlock is running’s etiquette king, though that’s a title he’d surely not relish. Still, many people find it uncomfortable in following the legend’s footsteps. Is it OK to run in a cemetery? The jury is out.
“I feel it’s disrespectful to people who are there to mourn loved ones. It’s not a gym for us, it’s a resting place for people’s families,” wrote one runner on the iRun Facebook page.
“It’s usually forbidden to do so for a good reason,” said someone else.
Another commentator added: “Don’t run near a group mourning, I would find that offensive.”
While the vast majority of runners decided that it was OK to run through the cemetery, as long as people were quiet and respectful—not a great place for speed work, perhaps, and certainly not the moment for singing along with your music or yelling at yourself to get pumped up—it remains an issue that’s pretty much up to each individual. One runner recounted being yelled at inside a cemetery. “I just said I was here temporarily keeping fit, so I don’t have to be here permanently until much later,” he replied.
Mount Pleasant Cemetery in Toronto is a destination for elite and amateur runners. On their website, they offer paths of 1K, 3K and 5K routes for either walkers or runners. And the Canada Army Run, which raises money for Support Our Troops and features a span through Beachwood Cemetery—home of the National Military Cemetery—races amongst the tombstones of fallen heroes.
“While running through Beechwood Cemetery, Canada’s Military Cemetery, as part of the 2019 Canada Army Run half marathon, one thing I noticed was how quiet the large group of runners around me had become once we entered the grounds,” wrote one runner. “I didn’t hear any of the usual banter or casual chitchat you normally hear during a race. All you could hear were the runners’ footfalls. Very respectful. Very peaceful.”
“Respect” seems to be the optimal word when it comes to judging the appropriateness of the cemetery run. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a group run, but quietly alone or maybe with two people seems okay,” one commentator said.
For many runners, a cemetery offers the chance to add a little something extra to an otherwise ordinary run. “I frequently run through two cemeteries—one where my late brother and sister-in law are buried and another where my late father is buried. I stop for a brief visit and chat with them,” someone said.
“It’s so peaceful and I feel the spirits giving me energy,” wrote someone else.
During COVID-19, runners have found themselves on the receiving end of vitriol for running on sidewalks, running in groups and even for running at all. Clearly, the pandemic brings out animosity, rage and frustration.
In some cities, cemeteries host Shakespeare in the Park. And, like the Canada Army Run, the PEI Marathon once raced through a cemetery as part of its course. Should you be running in a cemetery? Is it respectful, tacky or OK? For a final verdict, we turned to Father Jarek Pachocki, a marathon runner with the St. Patrick Parish in Hamilton, Ontario.
“I’ve done it a number of times and I think it’s ok as long as it’s respectful,” he says. “It kind of helps to reflect on the meaning of life.”
Photographs of Ed Whitlock by Darren Calabrese for iRun magazine.
We’ll chat with Stacey Munro about some of the pressures we place on ourselves as runners and why she decided to embrace what she calls “the lazies”. Rick Rayman, our friend from Toronto, who has run every day for more than 42 years, and has completed more than 375 marathons. Plus we’ll talk to running crew organizer Heather Gardner about the small ways we’re keeping runners connected even if we can’t always run together.
“Caring for the spirit is deep and passionate care about the self and will enhance mental health and well being overall,” says Cynthia Breadner, a frequent iRun contributor. Here, she recalls her journey—with her daughter—from birth through COVID-19 and their path toward positivity.
Mother aka Cynthia:
April 15, 1986 I was at an aerobics class and was on the floor mat doing some sit ups. A participant said, “Way to go! You are expecting!” I rolled on to my side, got up and smiled. She further asked, “When are you due?” “Today!!” I answered and her jaw dropped. There I was this slim, trim woman with the tiniest baby bump ever!
I had maintained my fitness level through-out the pregnancy and it worked for me. I also went skiing and ATV riding! As I travelled down the path on my 3-Wheeler, the front wheel got away from me and baby and I went for a somersault over the handlebars. Dad, who was up ahead on his own machine, just looked back and saw me laying on the ground, belly up! He came running. I could not get up for laughing. That was the environment Danielle was born into on April 26, 1986.
Daughter aka Danielle:
I have no recollection of the antics my mother had me do while still in the womb, but I suppose it worked as I recall growing up knowing I wanted to be outdoors. I developed a passion for outdoor expeditions throughout my teenage years, including an epic failure of a backpacking trip at the age of sixteen which resulted in a rescue and an overnight respite at my grandmother’s house, until my mother could come and get me the following day.
Now, I spend most of my days seeking out as many outdoor adventures as possible for my own two young boys, ages 4 and 8 months, to ensure they grow up with their own sense of adventure and desire to seek the all that the outdoors has to offer.
OUR STORY:
In 2015, Danielle took an interest in triathlons. As Cynthia was watching from the stands, Danielle dug in at only her second triathlon and found herself on the podium for the first time. In 2016, Danielle competed at the TriMuskokan, and on a record-breaking day for heat, she completed her race while unknowingly six weeks pregnant! That was her last race until after Owen was born in March of 2017. In setting her sights on re-building her training base, she signed Mom up for her first try-a-tri.
Our first race together, a local MEC race on the Barrie waterfront, was where we cut our teeth and DanCyn’ Adventures, a mother/daughter duo was born! 2017 was an amazing year for both of us to realize our dreams! Between us we have completed 23 races, including a half-marathon together in October 2017. Late in 2019 baby #2 was on its way and Danielle watched from the finish line as her Mother podiumed for the first time! How exciting!
Then 2020 hit. All races were cancelled and we waited. Motivations were harder to find when there were no races to focus on. During 2020, Danielle was moving through her pregnancy with the baby due the end of June. Decisions had to be made about delivery, with COVID, there were challenges all around. The decision was made for a home birth and we welcomed Isaac in about two hours from start to finish.
Danielle supported her Mother as she decided for her 61st birthday to raise funds for hospice. Cynthia committed to covering 200 running kms in August 2020, and began looking for sponsors. Her pinnacle would be a 61km duathlon as a birthday present to herself. DanCyn’ Adventures set up a home base while Cynthia ran 8 kms – cycled 45 kms – then closed the du with a 7 km run. Cynthia raised $1600 for hospice and it was a boost to her 200 km goal for August 2020.
How do we continue to keep ourselves motivated during a time with no racing in sight? Through setting out to keep DanCyn’ alive with winter hiking and indoor cycling, along came Lent! We are faith people and practice the beauty of Lent. It is a time when inner reflection is the focus and a time when letting go of something keeps one real. Danielle and Cynthia are both reflective of this time and so this year Danielle decided to push herself and kick off the 2021 cycling year. Setting a goal of 1000 kms, she has 40 days to complete her goal!
Commitment in herself and faith in her commitment. Not to be out done, this meant Cynthia needed to figure out something to challenge alongside to keep the faith and to increase the partnership that has a base of encouraging each other! So, Cynthia set a goal of 200+ kms, which is consistently and faithfully hiking (running) 5+ kms every day because she does not own a bike trainer! We are now well into the challenge and both on track for completion April 4, 2021: Easter Sunday.
The best part of this partnership is the love we feel for each other sharing our fitness. As a mother/daughter duo we strive to show, no matter the age, when women commit to each other they grow together and are there to cheer each other on! Now with two small boys, sons and grandsons, to teach about self-care and the love of our natural world, hiking has taken on new meaning with the COVID shift. This challenge will set us up to be ready for family tripping, backpacking, camping, and a Bruce Trail thru-hike with hope of it being in the not-too-distant future.
DanCyn’ Adventures is just getting started and as we succeed together, we hope to inspire other mother-daughter teams to get out there and find their own adventures. To follow Danielle and Cynthia’s adventures find them on YouTube and Instagram! #DanCynAdventures
Throughout my career, I practiced transitions regularly. This took place in my bedroom, hotel rooms and parking lots around the world! I wanted to be able to get into my shoes fast. I wanted to be able to race sockless. I wanted something breathable that would not get heavy when drenched with water. My racing shoes had to be lightweight but still have enough structure and stability to accommodate my flat feet and my orthotics and not leave me injured post-race. The ASICS Noosa 13 checks all of my boxes and may even tempt me to come out of retirement. And for the beauty conscious, these fast shoes are a makeover for your feet!
My feet are a challenge so if I can run pain-free in these shoes then trust that your foot will find a comfortable home. I typically run in either the ASICS Gel Nimbus or Cumulus or GT 2000. So, day-to-day, I am a support and stability-seeker, adding a dash of cushioning on the side.
This shoe is flashy (or stunning?)! The rainbow colours and the fun-speckled sole will be spectacular in transition as they wait for you to quickly slide your foot into the one-piece knit upper. The heel-pull tab and the grip on the tongue make it simple to push your foot into the shoe while the elastic laces (which accompany the shoe), provide the usual elasticity for even faster transitions. However, if you prefer traditional laces, you can add the lace-lock device for a fast escape out of T-2.
The inner liner is seamless and comfortable so socks can be optional. This is factual. I tested it sock-free and returned home unscathed.
UNPACKING THE SNEAKER
One feature I loved was the new GUIDESOLE rocker, which allowed me to run smoothly off of my big toe without calling on the deep calf muscles for push-off. That is something that will come in handy at the later stages of the longer triathlons when muscles tend to cramp at the slightest acceleration. It was helpful for my flat feet since I could propel myself forward without engaging my deep foot muscles.
The midsole is constructed from ASICS FlyteFoam delivering a comfortable ride and absorbing the impact of each foot strike. Yet, there was still enough stiffness to allow a faster turnover and energy transfer. I felt completely stable yet cushioned—without bounce.
I loved that my foot felt “fully-enclosed” by the shoe. It fit like a glove without feeling tight likely because of the strategically integrated sock-liner.
I had no problem going from my typical 8 mm stack height to the Noosa’s 5 mm fit and I love that my orthotics fit perfectly. I have met many triathletes who ditch their custom insoles on race day since they don’t fit their racing shoes. That is ill-advised. Running fatigued off of the bike, which is guaranteed on race day, can increase the likelihood of injury. Whether you have good biomechanics or rely on custom orthotics, a thoughtfully engineered shoe like the ASICS Noosa Tri 13 will allow you to avoid the injury cycle that can be provoked by ill-suited racing shoes.
The ASICS Noosa Tri 13 has both personality and good looks! It is a brilliant lightweight training and racing shoe for both runners and triathletes. Easy slip-on. Well-engineered. Smooth ride. Effortless push-off. Light. Breathable. Seamless. Attractive. This is a win on all levels. They will turn heads and not just the ones you pass in transition and on the course. See you at the races, if I can catch you!
Lisa Bentley is an 11-time Ironman Champion, author of An Unlikely Champion, speaker and coach. Lisa has Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic lung disease that causes an abnormal amount of mucus to accumulate in the lungs. This leads to chronic lung infections, lung damage, lung transplant and ultimately early death. Lisa says that CF is her superpower. She should not have won a single race. But, she found a way where there was no way. Lisa is an ASICS ambassador and continues to embrace sport every day. You can find her at www.lisabentley.com and lisa@lisabentley.com
Gloria McCoy is a runner from California who has travelled all over the world, to more than 200 countries and territories. She is going to tell us some amazing stories of some of the places she has run. Lauren Simmons has a great perspective to share on the past year without any races or personal best times, and what she has learned from that. And we’ll check in with Dave McGillivray, the race director of the Boston Marathon. He has run Boston more than 45 years in a row and last year, in one form or another, he did it three times.
The Chilly Half Marathon has always been one of my favourite races; held in early March, it brings out a certain kind of runner, one who has trained through the cold winds and treacherous streets of January and February. For three consecutive years, on the flat, fast, streets of Burlington, I ran Personal Best times at the Chilly Half Marathon. In March 2020, I was coming off of three years of successive marathon cycles. I knew I didn’t want to run another marathon that spring, but I had my sights set on the Around the Bay 30K at the end of March, like I always do. The Chilly Half in March 2020 was to be a stepping stone to the goal I had for Around the Bay, certainly not an unachievable one, and a goal that would be easy for many recreational runners: running 30K in under 2 hours and 30 minutes. And then, COVID-19 happened.
First, we saw races in the spring get canceled, then we watched the fall race calendar collapse, and we began to realize that racing – large groups of people travelling from afar to stand in close quarters and breathe heavily – was not a thing it was going to be happening anytime soon. When the pandemic hit, I kept running. I dropped my long run mileage considerably, with no long races to train for, but I kept my weekly mileage in a range which, while comfortable, was still a lot for me to take on without the break I’d normally take after a race. For March and April, I was running six days a week, whereas before the pandemic I ran five days a week, taking one day off completely, and one day to do the elliptical at the gym instead. Many runners can run everyday, but I’m not one of them. By May, I was injured.
I spent the late spring and summer on my bike. I didn’t miss running, as I had lots of other ways to stay active. I waited in line to swim laps at the city pool. I tried an HIIT app at home. I pulled my kid everywhere in a wagon. My foot pain never really went away, but with the approval of my physio, chiro, and sports doc, I resumed running in late summer.
I’ve been a runner for over a decade, but I’ve only been improving steadily in the last five years, since the birth of my daughter. With more consistent training, higher mileage (certainly not high mileage by many runners’ standards), focused workouts, dedication to physio and body work, and staying injury free, I successfully took on the distance of the marathon for the first time in 2017, again in 2018, and twice in 2019. I had my sights on another marathon in fall 2020, as my times kept improving, and I wanted to see how fast I could get. Most recreational runners will tell you that when they take on a training cycle, their goal is to achieve a Personal Best. And for five years, I had been doing just that.
So what does one do with it in a year without a Personal Best? What does it mean for someone who has been chasing improvement to suddenly have those chances for improvement taken away? As a year of COVID-19 has taught me, putting all my eggs in the basket of improving my running had provided me with a talisman for my adult life after the birth of my daughter. And in a year without the possibility of another Personal Best, I found myself searching for new meaning. I didn’t feel sad when I took two months off running, but I realized that I had spent most of the last five years coupling my own value as a human with my ability to make my body run faster. When that possibility disappeared, my sense of who I was dissipated too.
In my year without a Personal Best, I interviewed for a new job, and was promoted to an important position in my school with a portfolio including Equity, an extremely important area of work in our time. I taught a new course I had never taught before, designing it from scratch to meet the needs of my students, who, from most reports, loved the class. I pivoted to teaching music in a hybrid model, without my students being able to play instruments in class.
I parented my own kindergartener through the upheaval of her formative first school years, doing countless crafts, scavenger hunts, and park outings in all seasons, then later sitting with her through SK classes on Zoom while also running my own classes on a different device. In my year without a Personal Best I supported local businesses by ordering takeout and books and toys and comfy clothes. I did trivia over Zoom and shared Saturday night drinks online with groups of friends, all of us just trying to get through another week. I read a lot. I cried a lot. I drank a moderate amount of craft beer. I biked, I swam, and I ran, but I didn’t run faster or farther than I needed to.
Now that we’re approaching the one-year anniversary of that last race, and of the start of the pandemic, I’m forced to ask myself what I did with this year. While I may not have run a personal best, or even close, I extricated my sense of self-worth from running altogether. And while running will always be where I go to find myself, I now know there are other places to look, too.
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