Dear Run God's, It's Me, Amy.

2013 post hip labrum repair surgery

Dear Run Gods, it's me, Amy.

I vow to remain humble no matter how strong, confident, and prepared I am.

As long as you let me run.

I promise not to complain that it is too hot, cold, humid, or hilly to run.

As long as you let me run.

I pledge to listen to my coach and follow sound training principles.

Just please, please, please let me run!

Even though I'm a science girl and require proof and evidence, a tiny part of me is superstitious, like when it comes to the belief in running gods. These deities sit on bleachers high up in the clouds dressed in robes and running shoes. You can doubt them all you want, but take it from me; you better not piss them off. Instead, follow the three commandments of running.

The Three Commandments of Running

Thou shall be humble.

You must quell overconfidence and display humility, or the run gods will conjure up things like a pothole smack dab in the middle of the road within the first two miles of a half marathon when the field is wall to wall runners, so you can't see it. Your left foot lands in it, and you fall face-first onto the pavement. True story! Flying Pig 2016. 

Or they may concoct extreme heat and humidity the likes that no marathon has yet seen. So severe that race organizers run out of water. Runners are carted from the finish line in wheelchairs with their eyes rolling into the back of their heads. All while police are hovering above in helicopters, yelling into megaphones, "The race is canceled. Stop running…" even though you are only two miles away from the finish. And then, if you go ahead and finish it anyway, the running gods will bestow the gift of Morton's Neuroma for your subversion. Morton's Neuroma is an injury of a nerve in the foot, in case you are wondering. 

Coach Amy’s Finishes her First Marathon. Chicago 2007.

Thou shall not complain. 

Suppose you get complacent in training and even dare to complain about speed work, hill repeats, or any running workout. In that case, the run gods may cackle while shooting bolts of lightning that induce running injuries like a hip labrum tear or patellofemoral pain syndrome, aka "runner's knee" or, gods forbid, plantar fascitis! Check, check and check - had them all.

Then, suppose you ignore the injury, and the god's become even angrier. In that case, you may end up on the surgical table or in physical therapy for months, sidelined on the couch on Saturday mornings, staring out the window aiming to shoot down any healthy runner you see bouncing happily down the road. Knee surgery 2009 and hip surgery 2013. 

Thou shall follow sound training advice. 

You must listen to your coach and/or adhere to training guidelines like "do not eat creamy, fatty goodness like mushrooms risotto the night before a race." Because if you don't, the running gods may beget a malady like Runner's Trots, so you poop your pants, and EVERYONE at the finish line stops clapping and stares at you in disgust. Even the medical tent volunteers back away from you. Uh-huh - Flying Pig 2016.

Crime scene photo: Mushrooms Risotto at pre-race dinner.

Superstitious or not, it behooves you to respect the run gods and escape their wrath: remain humble, don’t complain, and follow sound training principles. And even then, beware, these gods are fickle, and anything can happen.

Wrinkles in Time

Coach Amy and her youngest child, Nina.

You can’t slow it down, speed it up, rewind or fast forward it. There is no catching it. It keeps on marching forward with or without us and completely irrespective of our perception of it. IT is time, and there are wrinkles in it, incontrovertible folds in the fabric of time that seemingly defy reality.

There are times when sixty seconds is eternal like when my lungs are on fire whilst sprinting quarter mile repeats on the track. Yet when I’m hanging onto the edge of the pool gasping for breath after a 200 meter hard lap, the sixty seconds of “rest” my coach prescribed is fleeting. This discrepancy is a Pain Wrinkle.

There is that time last year when when I ran the Boston Marathon…oh wait, that was ten years ago, according to Facebook. Thankfully I have a whole collection of social media pictures that mark that Age Wrinkle or I might not believe that many years, weeks, days and hours actually passed.

What about the Trauma Wrinkle of the pandemic, when time stood still? A whole year on pause. It is only now that we are starting to come out of it that I feel the relative slack in the rope snapping dangerously tight, dragging me and the rest of society like a fallen water skier behind the boat, face first.

Then there are the Bittersweet Wrinkles. During a long training run, a dear friend of mine was marveling how her son was turning six and how fast that year “flew by”. This triggered a sudden onslaught of visions of my youngest child, a slideshow on steroids depicting her life from birth to her looming high school graduation. My throat tightened, my stomach cramped and my eyes burned; we stopped running because it is really hard to run while sobbing into a pair of mittens.

A Death Wrinkle is the incomprehensible fact that life continues, the planet keeps turning and time keeps marching on when a loved one is gone. Shouldn’t it come to a screeching halt? How dare it move forward!

There are vast wrinkles in time. Some are universal and others are quite personal. My hope is that by recognizing them and embracing them, I can smooth them out a little bit, even if it is just for a second…

Feeling Naked

Most people think I'm an extrovert because on the outside I'm bubbly and chatty, but really I'm an introvert at heart. I guess you could call me an "outgoing introvert". I share opinions and experiences willingly, but not my feelings. Few people, even those closest to me, are privy to the inner Amy because over the last fifty years I adeptly wove a tough outer shell that protects the vulnerable, soft insides such that when it comes to writing about personal things, it seems like the shell is cracking and parts are oozing out. It's scary!

After posting my first entry in Diary of a Happy Runner, I awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wishing I could fly up into the "cloud" and rescue my words. My husband tried in vain to explain that this "cloud"is a huge computer that forever stores all things digital. Whatever it is, my words are there, I can't duct tape the cracks and I feel naked.

Even though I'm vulnerable, I’m compelled to share my story for my own personal growth and perhaps it will help others pedaling their way through life. The comment of one of my readers, "...loved your post on how we all go through different stages. I appreciate how real and honest you are…" emboldens me to continue. As does the fact that the morning after I posted my first entry, I woke up safe even though I shared my inner person. My shell is still intact, it just has windows that I can open from time to time. How liberating, rewarding and yet terrifying it is to do so!

The Story behind Diary of a Happy Runner

I floated into the house after my very first track practice and my Mom said, “I don’t think this is good for her, she seems manic.” Not an athlete herself, she was unfamiliar with a “runner’s high” and that my exuberant behaviour was due to neuromodulators, released with exercise - think of it as a healthy and natural dose of happy. Thankfully, my Dad explained to her that it was normal, so I got to keep running and oh! what an impact it had and continues to have on my life. Running not only protected my mental health for years, it led to lifelong friendships, personal accomplishments, and physical health. And never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would shape my professional career path as a physical therapist and running coach which now gives me the privilege to influence the training and health of runners all over the world so that they too can run happy. The purpose of this blog is to share my own personal experiences with running in order to inspire others to start and stay on their run journey.

A Love Affair with Triathlon

Ironman Ohio 70.3 Finish Line, 2018

It’s no secret that my true love is Running. Every now and again we fight over an injury or hot, humid weather. But, there is one time in my life when I truly hated Running and it scared me because I didn’t know why.

It all started after I jumped in bed with Triathlon so I could empathize with my triathlete patients. Call me crazy and a little nerdy, but I wanted to experience the mental and physical demands of the sport and intimately understand the biomechanics.

Triathlon did not disappoint! I got the full monty and loved every glorifying and terrifying minute of it. I fell head over heels. But Triathlon is needy; he gives, but he also takes. Could I keep up with Running, working, family and Triathlon? The answer to that question came soon enough.

A few years into this love triangle and I felt physically sick, bedraggled and burnt out. The mere thought of swimming, biking and even running stirred up feelings of anger, defiance and hate. That was when my coach told me to put on the brakes. To save my future in sport from irreparable damage, I broke it off with Triathlon and Running and entered a phase of convalescence, free of scheduled workouts and demands; the only goal to heal.

During that time, I wrote a A Dear John Letter to Triathlon in my journal as a part of the healing process (see below). Drafts of the letter evolved in sync with the stages of my recuperation. Bitter words were cathartic and at times a bit hysterical. Eventually, with every degree that my love of running returned, my anger for Triathlon weakened. Eventually I added a postscript to leave a window open, just a wee crack, that maybe one day Triathlon and I will rekindle our friendship. But, make no mistake, I will never again toss my true love aside.

A Dear Triathlon Letter from my journal inspired by Jean Shepard and Ferlin Husky's song “A Dear John Letter".”

A Dear Triathlon Letter

by Amy Parkerson-Mitchell

Dear Triathlon, how you make me cry;

Dear Triathlon, I must let you know why

My love for you has dried up like a post ride sweaty chin;

See, sometimes you make me sick, Dear Run-Bike-Swim.

I was glowing with glory at our 70.3

Beat up and sore, I was just as happy as can be

For the fighting was all over and the battle was won

But then you begged me do it again, Dear Triathlon.

Dear Triathlon, how you make me cry;

Dear Triathlon, I must let you know why

My love for you has crusted up like a post run blister on a limb;

See, sometimes you make me sick, Dear Run-Bike-Swim.

Will you please send back the time you took, my family wants it now;

When I tell you what I'm doing, you won't care, dear anyhow

Now the training has started and I choose your cousin, Run

Will you please wish us happiness forever, dear Triathlon?

P.S.

Dear Triathlon, I love you nonetheless;

Dear Triathlon, I just need some rest

My love for you’ll grow back in time like chaffing twixt the thighs

Only then will I come back and ask myself - WHY!?

---