Mid stride

Mid stride, you just don't care about all of those things.

On a normal day, many "things" start to grate. Some things pile on, weight to my shoulders, tasks to complete, more challenges to tackle. Work, life obligations, they come at me and I have little choice but to sidestep, or to take it head on.

The first few strides are floating, always. They happen usually after I see the lights turn green, or after I close the gate of my townhouse. The first few strides are heaven. It's as if with the swing of the arms and my soles slapping pavement, or concrete, or grass, that I am unshackled.

Today felt like many of those days. Too much in my thoughts, too many things left undone, the to-do is so long that I have to scroll down for pages to catch all of the things.

After work, I'll often pick a city route. There, unlike the uninterrupted waterfront trails where I can run for miles and minutes and to the horizon, I'm constantly interrupted. I'm stopped at a stoplight, my hands on my hip, breathing hard, waiting to hit the start button again. I'm swerving pedestrians, people who have similar to-do lists and weights on their shoulders. I'm running into the road, giving way to oncoming cyclists and in-a-hurry cars that are trying to beat the city traffic. I'm running along side, and toward, other runners, sharing a wave, a nod.

Running in the city, on side walks, on roads, watching a busy life stream by but somehow transcending it, makes me feel like I'm floating above all of it -- as if I'm watching the 'city life' stream around me as I do the unlikely thing: run while they are commuting, run while they are entering a restaurant, run while they are toting their briefcase to the next destination, run while they are slogging. Run.

Putting away the scale

I used to love weighing myself after a summer long run. If I had a light breakfast and didn't hydrate, I'd instantly lose a few extra pounds. It was a nice bonus to being a long distance runner.

Today, that scale is tucked away in a closet and I can't really remember the last time I used it. And although me, like you, obsess over this, I really couldn't care less to weigh myself.

What a long way I've come.

I have a hate-hate relationship with weight loss success stories. The last decade, with reality TV shows turning the healthier you into a neatly packaged network schedule, along with the racks of magazines that tout ways to lose the extra pounds, I've realized we're always looking for an easy, short term solution to too big a problem.

When the spotlight goes away, or when everyone stops noticing, many sneak back into habits. We read stats about those who inevitably gain back weight.

What we don't have enough is how to maintain a healthy lifestyle over the long run. That, unfortunately, doesn't make for good TV -- the struggles, grabbing a pint of icecream on a stressful evening or the big bag of chips that keeps on mysteriously shrinking over the course of an evening.

I'm not alone in that struggle, but at some point over this past year, I've just put the scale away.

These aren't easy things to say, but 10 years ago, I was overweight, clearly so. As  it usually does, a milestone birthday and looking at a snapshot of myself helped me realize I had to do something about it. I took up exercising, I started to watch what I ate. I dropped the weight, I started running and soon enough, I was a marathoner. Success story, right?

The road from couch to exercise to marathoner with a stunning weight loss only begins that journey. For those of us who lean on eating for comfort, usually because of stress, anxiety or depression, or all of the above, you never quite shake the feeling.

As a runner, I've always known that exercise has been a key ingredient in shaping the better me. Embracing running, and even becoming a runner, you know you're guaranteed to start 'working off those calories.'

Through periods of stress, I've realized that no matter how many miles I'd run, I'd always find ways to consume those calories right away. My first marathon, like many I gained weight instead of losing it. For many years, as I was doing three to five marathons a year, I just reconciled the fact that I could never figure things out.

Then something changed -- my whole approach morphed, evolved, jolted into a new way -- I FINALLY practiced mindful eating and meal planning. And I put away the scale.

What does this mean?

Race report: Moon in June 5K

I don't avoid many things in running -- running in rain, -20C or tempo runs. One thing I've successfully avoided for four years was a 5K race.

I have done one since 2010 and haven't full out raced one for five years. Since I'm in the final weeks of off season, I looked at doing this race to see where my fitness was and also see where all the gains this year have taken me.

My goal was to target 3:50s to 3:55s, sort of in the pace we were doing for faster intervals during the training season. The race is in Burlington and I had last run it in 2008, and this year it was a bigger event, more runners for sure. I went down with Lee and Julie and milled around, saw Emma, but mostly I was wondering what the day would bring.

Funnily enough, I was not as nervous about this as my hard workouts. I knew that if I were to run a hard 5K on the edge, the whole thing would feel like a good effort.

Race report: Sulphur Springs Trail Run 25K

About 200 metres into yet another race, a noise drowned out all others, and I knew I'd be in for a transformational experience. Up until the 7:30 a.m. starting time of today's 25K, it was really not that different from the 97 previous times I'd been at road races -- at 5Ks, half marathons and 27 marathons. All of them were done on roads -- at major cities with thousands of others, or in a city park with a few hundred.

But none of those were like the 98th. None of them were like today. And I'm left thinking why it took so long.

Today, I had abandoned my Asics road shoes for New Balance trails. Today, I had no idea what a good pace would look like, much like the first race 97 start lines ago. Today, under the canopy of trees on a much-delayed Spring, I could hear the difference -- the thud of our trail shoes on pine needles and later sucking mud, and then then sound of birds.

New shoes now broken in.

The sound of birds chirping overtook the footfalls of a few hundred runners. As I was letting gravity help plunge me deeper into the trails before I'd have to climb the coming hills, I knew I was already falling in love.

This won't read like any traditional race report. I really don't know how to write it for trails, maybe one day I will. I will refer you to Russell's excellent course preview of the Sulphur Springs race.

The race is made up of varied distances, a 10K, 25K, 50K, 50 miler, 100 miler and a 100 mile relay. So from the 10K (done the fastest in 34 blistering minutes) to the 100 miler, which will take some as much as 30 hours, there are hundreds of runners doing this course in Ancaster, Ontario, just outside of Hamilton. (Results for 10K, 25K, 50K, 50 Mile, 100 Mile Relay)

With files from...

When many of us race, we may find ourselves drafting other runners. Single file, you may plunge into the course, finding comfort in the group and respite from the elements ahead.

On many a training day this past season, the winter throwing layering penetrating, bone chilling gusts, I took solace in facing the vortex with others. On one occasion, there was a stretch of road, not more than 2 kilometres long, where the wind was fierce, and it was no small task to stride into it.

So we took turns running into the wind. Single file, two of us took on the wind, while others took shelter. The pace never slowed. We were faster.

***

I've been advising a co-worker who just finished his first marathon. Through the course of the conversation, we both keyed in on what he found he loved about the training -- he finally got the alone time, the quiet us long distance runners find when we are in our own heads, only the road ahead of us and minutes -- no hours -- to wallow in, to zone out, to think, to analyze, to experience raw emotion and tune into your body, or to simply focus on the run.

I know the benefits of alone time -- it's what took me through 26 marathons, some 22,000 kilometres over 10 years. I even trained to my previous peak while doing it solo. For that, I will always look back at it -- and the accomplishments topped with a Boston qualifier -- with an equal amount of pride and wonder.

If solo running helps you discover more of your self, what does the other side look like? What can you find in a group?

***
I took on a coach for the first time this year. I've written about him -- Rejean Chiasson. I took on team running for the first time this year. I've written about the group -- BlackToe. I've written about running with team members, about hard Wednesday workouts, about progressively longer Sunday runs, about Friday speedwork. In my races leading up to my goal marathon, I paced with teammates and I found the power of the group.