Running While Smiling

An Open Letter to Running

2013-02-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Running,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately—how we used to hang out all the time, and how close we were. Sometimes it seemed you were the only one who understood me. You could tell what I was thinking or feeling before I even said a word. You were such a huge part of my life, every morning, there as reliably as a sunrise, as present as the word "the."

You didn't care what I looked like when we met up, and you didn't care how fast or slow I was so long as we were together. You even laughed at all my jokes.

You were my best friend, Running. I always felt it deep in my heart, but maybe I didn't tell you enough. Maybe you never realized how often I talked about you with all my other friends; maybe you didn't know all the nice things I said about you. I know now that I should have told you every chance I had.

I miss you, Running. Life just isn't the same without you.

These past few weeks, as I've sat here reflecting on our relationship with my foot elevated and wrapped tight in a surgical boot, I've had to come to a definition of myself that doesn't include you like it used to. I know it's not permanent; we may have drifted apart during this difficult time, but I think you and I both know we'll be reunited.

When we do meet up again, I know I'll try to treat you better, and you me. It's amazing how much can happen in three weeks, especially when you have to re-learn how to use a totally fundamental part of your body—especially one of the fundamental parts of the body with which you and I communicate, the part that makes us able to relate and carry on. Part of our shared language. Part of the fun.

I've got three more weeks in this thing, and then, I don't know what'll happen. I don't know when or where we'll meet again, but I know we will. I'm not going to force it, and I know you well enough to know you won't, either. You're too good and loving and patient for that—that's part of what draws me back to you again and again. You always forgive me, you always welcome me back with open arms and an open road.

I love you, Running. I miss you, I love you, and I can't wait to catch up when we both have a chance. We're going to have a great time together, I just know it.

See you soon, and all good things,
Meister

Next year, new year

2013-01-01T08:00:00.000-05:00

Apologies for the silence here, friends, but there has been as much smiling happening as there has been running lately. Which is to say, practically none.

Why? I'll show you why. Take a look at this ol' beauty:

That's right: Bunions. Bad ones. My left food in particular has sidelined me for over a week, though I've been suffering with the brutal thing for several years now. I reckon it's time for surgery, and have a second opinion scheduled for tomorrow. (Wish me good luck and good feet.)

No running means plenty of time to… well, to whinge, first and foremost, but also to spend time focusing on other stuff. Like the elliptical machine and core exercises. Which translates to being bored out of my g-ddamned mind, going to the stupid gym every stupid day.

Wah, boo hoo, First World Problems™. But still. Runners, you understand. The agony of not being able to run! The purgatory of cardio machines and recumbent bikes and those terrible little TVs that every gym is stuffed to the gills with!

I hate it, but I do it. I do it because (a) I know I won't be able to do anything for the first few weeks after this inevitable surgery, and (b) I know that maintaining some level of fitness will help me ease back into running as soon as I'm able again.

In order to glean some enjoyment out of going to the gym, I've started a little incentive for myself: Every time I work out—no matter what it is, so long as it's prescribed as "exercise"—I put a dollar in a jar.

Yes, I've got a Workout Jar. And it's awesome. And it's filling up fast. And it feels so good to put a dollar in this silly thing that I can't help but feel really great about suffering through every excruciating moment spent walking on a treadmill or trudging along on the step machine.

So there's that, and I can slog along. I don't know what I'll do with the dough, and I don't care. Because every time I look at this thing, I think, "See? It's okay. You're not running, but you're doing something great for yourself. You're taking care of yourself. You're committed, you're dedicated. You're living hard and fast and true."

I can do this. I will run again. I am not defined by running, I am defined by my perseverance and my love of life and my commitment to treating my body well.

This is a new year, I'll be a new athlete. And maybe I'll buy myself a new outfit—Lord knows I have enough money in this thing already!

Do you incentivize your running or working out somehow?

Marathon #2, or "This Time It's Personal"

2012-11-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

Growing up as an overweight, clumsy kid in New Jersey, I hated physical activity. I was slow on the soccer field and bored in the outfield; always the last picked on the team in gym class, always the first chucked out by a flying dodge ball. Whether I was enduring the annual feeble attempt at a Presidential Fitness Award or feigning my period to avoid swimming laps, the thought of having to move at a faster-than-normal pace seemed like torture, like some kind of punishment.

Now, just look at me.

If I could go back and talk to Younger Me, I would have so much to tell her. I'd try to help her forget there were other kids in the gym, and tell her that it doesn't matter if someone else can do 50 push-ups: If you can do three, be proud of that. Be proud of what you can do—whatever you can do. Comparing yourself to other people just scares you. It makes you feel small and useless, a failure, a loser.

You're none of those things. And one day? You're going to love the way that exercise makes you feel. One day, kiddo, you're going to run a marathon. You're going to run for four hours in the driving rain and you're going to smile (almost) the entire time, because you're having fun. Real fun!

And then you're going to run another marathon. In your home state. On your home turf.

My home turf has taken more of a beating lately than I ever took as a fat kid: Hurricane Sandy has severely damaged and in some places completely decimated the shoreline, wreaking havoc up and down the Jersey coast. My family lives there; my sister's house was without power for 11 days. My brother-in-law's uncle's house looks like it got swallowed in pieces by the earth.

Bruce Springsteen went on TV and played music to raise money to rebuild the town he got his start in, Asbury Park. Now I'm going to run 26.2 miles to do the same thing: Raise money toward the recovery and redevelopment of my home state. I worked hard to be a stronger, healthier person, and now I will use that development toward helping New Jersey bounce back stronger and healthier.

Jersey Strong. Let's do this.

The seas are quiet

2012-11-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

The storm has quieted. Both the literal one as we recover from the havoc wreaked by Hurricane Sandy on the tri-state area, and the figurative one as disappointed and displaced marathoners turn their energy and attention to pitching in and helping out in and around New York City.

No one has had an easy go of it: Neighborhoods are still without power and running water, and of course the weather has suddenly gone cold, leaving those without heat to suffer even after so much loss already.

My heart is broken for my friends and neighbors who are climbing back to some semblance of normal life, to the small-business owners who are desperate to make up for revenue and supplies robbed of them by the disaster, to the houses and beaches disappeared in my adopted state as well as my home state.

Still, running around my battered city has been one of the only things to help me maintain some sanity and digest the raging feelings and nerves that have kept me up these past few nights. An hour of peace, of time alone with my thoughts and my breath, of shy smiles to people out doing the very same. Working it out, burning off the anger and frustration, even just escaping the dark for a little while. I'm grateful that I have been able to get myself out of bed and into my sneakers, and I'm heartened to see my fellow New Yorkers do the same.

We'll come through this: We are New York Strong, New Jersey Strong. Remember that recovery, like life, is itself a marathon, not a sprint. Just keep going. You'll feel relief eventually.

Post-Marathon Blues: They Are a Real Thing

2012-10-30T08:00:00.000-04:00

Ever since crossing the finish line of my first marathon, I've been a little… well, off. Stressed out, sleeping poorly, sluggish, eating my feelings, and, as usually follows suit, gaining weight.

It's really frustrating to feel like there's a little cloud over me, and that I've been stumbling around in a relatively lost daze since we finished that beautiful drive home, past the changing trees and under that atomic-blue New England sky.

Life is so good and full, and I have every reason to be proud, content, and quiet of mind. I just accomplished this wonderful and satisfying and difficult thing I set out to do: Why so blue, then, Meister?

Like with any great feat or milestone event, there's a lot of build-up to the actual starting gun. We spend months planning and practicing and fantasizing about how the big day or the big reveal is going to go. And then it comes, and it lasts almost no time at all (as all big joyful moments in life are wont), and then it's gone.

That's it. Wipe off your hands, put your everyday clothes back on, and get back to Real Life™.

More after the split »

Inspiration, perspiration, motivation

2012-10-09T08:00:00.000-04:00

Wait, how does the recipe go? Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration, right? So said Thomas Edison, and there was a guy who knew something about what it takes to succeed: Get an idea, stick with it even if it sounds crazy, and keep trying to piece it all together until you get it right.

Running is a little bit like that. It starts with the vision—a leaner or stronger version of yourself, a healthier lifestyle, more time outside, a goal or a distance that dangles like a carrot overhead. Once the dream takes hold, there's nothing to do but work at it, and work at it hard. Running sure ain't easy: There's perspiration aplenty involved whether you run a mile or a marathon. How do you keep the inspiration alive, how do you fuel that one mile or those 26.2?

Without motivation, though, inspiration often ends up dead in the water.

Motivation can come from anywhere: I find it in the smiling faces of strangers who holler at me when I'm simply on a morning jog in my neighborhood. There's nothing like a "Lookin' good, lady runner!" to put a bit more gallop in you. I also find motivation in the results I see: Not just the collection of finisher's medals on my tchotchke shelves, but also the incredible feeling of accomplishment when you cross the finish line at a race of any length, knowing how hard you've worked at it. I find motivation in the clean bill of health my doctor gives me when I visit him. "You're in perfect condition," he says, and I always walk out of there knowing that if I were a used car, I'd have a pretty high trade-in value. (But why would I want to trade such a good thing?)

That isn't to say that motivation to perspire doesn't seem in short supply sometimes. There are always those mornings you'd rather crawl back into bed than pull on your technical T-shirt and battle-worn sneakers. When I feel a bought of let-me-skip-it-just-this-once coming on, I like to turn to other people for inspiration and motivation. (I almost always end up adding my own perspiration to the mix afterward.)

Here are a few of my favorite sources of inspiration and motivation:

Blogs are a great way to use other people's energy to pump up your own. Some of my favorites are written by relentlessly positive people for whom running is a joy and a privilege: They speak to their own insecurities and doubts, of course, but their willingness to combat difficulty and mistake in an honest and open way keeps me going. Check out Ali on the Run, (never)homemaker, No Meat Athlete, and The Healthy Everythingtarian for some commentary that will knock your Zensahs off. (Or help you pull them on.)
Pinterest! Oh, I love this site so much. Any time I'm lacking a bit of steam in my running life, I do a search for people's fitness pins, and the next thing I know I'm itching to get out on the road again.
Runner's World is one of the only magazines I truly devour, and I always read it front to back basically the moment it arrives in my mailbox. ("Don't bother me; I'm reading Runner's World.") Not only does it always feature great original features, strategies and race tips for experienced hoofers, and not-too-serious columns, its writers and editors manage to make for-beginners information fun and interesting even for those of us who have been around the block. There's almost nothing more motivating to me than remembering what it was like to be an eager new runner, so hungry for anything I could learn and experience about my newfound passion: Reading RW always helps rekindle that fire for me.

How do you stay motivated, and what inspires you?

Smiling for 26.2

2012-10-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

I did it! I did this thing!

Pink socks and lobster rolls, 5 miles to the finish. Photo by Darren Stone

I truly can't believe I ran a marathon on Sunday. A full marathon, 26.2 miles, in the relentless pouring rain. It was fun, it got hard, I had an incredible support system of friends and a husband who ran from mile marker to mile marker (did I mention IN THE RAIN) to cheer me on.

I am so humbled and grateful for the whole experience: From the first training mile to the steps across the finish line.

It's strange, too, how you wake up the next day and life just goes on: You have your breakfast, you take a shower, you maybe notice a little creak in your hips but otherwise everything is just normal. You haven't transformed into some ancient Greek hero; you haven't suddenly dropped that pesky last 5 pounds you've been trying to lose; you can't wear your finisher's medal around without looking like a schmuck.

But yet, you're different. You did this thing: You set a goal for yourself, you worked toward it, and you accomplished it. You are officially a stronger person today than you were two days ago. That's kind of amazing.

Thanks to everyone who supported me with notes, cheers, high fives, patience, donations, and most of all love. I couldn't have done this without some truly awesome people behind me.

Now where should my second marathon be…

Final Countdown: Marathon Week

2012-09-25T08:00:00.000-04:00

This is it: We've begun the countdown in the last few days before my first marathon.

Honestly—and I'm certain this isn't a unique experience among runners approaching their first big milestone, be it whatever it may—I am full of conflicting emotions. Excited for the big morning, for the thrill of the accomplishment; afraid, and occasionally bowing to the nagging anxiety that maybe I won't be able to finish the darned thing. Exhausted, and stressed about how to wrap up training in a way that allows me to perform at my best on Sunday; ready to go, and rearing to go, and feeling stronger than ever.

Despite feeling all the feelings right now, I know that when I get out there, the most important thing to do besides simply putting one foot in front of the other is to do it with a smile.

All I can do is toe up in my corral with my fellow runners and breathe deep in the moment. All I can do is face that 26.2-mile course with the understanding that I am my own best friend and ally, and that my body wants to make me happy by running well and having fun. All I can do is look back over the past few months' work of work and say that it was worth it no matter what happens, and that this might be the first time but it certainly doesn't have to be the last.

All I can do is smile and enjoy.

Thanks to everyone who has listened to and supported me during this process—especially my sweetly patient nonrunning husband, Brett—and thanks, too, to everyone who donated to my race-day fund-raising cause on behalf of NOFA-NY. If you'd still like to contribute you're welcome to do so, even though I've met my goal. (Hooray!)

Crowdfunding

And with that, I'll see you next week—one marathon richer!

How to Ignore an Underminer

2012-09-11T08:00:00.000-04:00

Runners love talking about running. We really do—we'll talk about running to anybody and everybody who'll listen, often ignoring the very visible signs that the other person involved in the conversation has completely tuned out and is politely trying to back away into a different corner of the room.

(Pro tip: When the person you're talking to's eyes start to glaze over and/or dart around in search of another friendly face to interceded as runner-rescue, you've lost 'em. Probably for good. Just let it go.)

Photo by Flickr user familymwr

But while we don't mind unloading all of our pace details and "guess what I saw on my route this morning" stories to unsuspecting nonrunners, there's really nothing to compare with the little friendly-competitive banter we get into with each other. "How much did you do this morning?" or "Are you in training for anything?" can lead us down the rabbit hole of comparing stats and gear, commiserating about knee pain, and geeking out about GPS watches—perhaps to the great irritation of the civilians around us, but perhaps also to their relief, since when two runners find each other among a crowd they're more likely to spare everyone else the nitty-gritty talk about bunions and chafing.

This can be great—oh, the camaraderie of runners! the sense of community! the new perspective!—but it can also be a real bummer, especially when the person you're talking with suddenly transforms into the most dreaded type of frenemy: The Underminer*.

You know exactly who I mean. The person** who:

asks you how many miles you run a week and responds with either, "Oh, so you must do other things for exercise, too, right?" or "Wow, that's kind of a lot of miles: Are you sure you want to run that much?"
tries to scare the jog out of you by describing some horrible, painful could-only-have-been-caused-by-running injury or condition they've endured. ("My doctor told me I was destroying my kidneys by running, but I'm sure that if you're not feeling pain... I mean, you might want to get them checked out, though.")
tells you that the distance, pace, or time goal you just excitedly described to them is "so great...for a beginner."
belittles what or how much you eat. (This too takes two forms, typically "You'd better start running a lot more if you're going to eat like that," or "I just run so much I can eat whatever I want!")

This isn't to say you shouldn't seek out and have fun rapping with other runners: We can be a very supportive, encouraging, happy, and uplifting tribe. But we can also be curmudgeonly jerks whose own insecurities come out in the ways we compare ourselves with others and—unintentionally or not—cut our "rivals" down to size.

When a friend-foe gets you down, try to keep this in mind: Your body is your own, your runs are your own, and you're not only your own boss but you're also your own best friend. And I think every runner should, to a certain extent, learn to trust themselves at least a little, because there isn't anyone else in your skin (or your sneakers) but you.

If you feel good about the distance and frequency of your runs, there's no need to ramp them up or scale them back to make someone else more comfortable.
If you feel pain, and that pain is persistent, increases, or is truly distractingly uncomfortable, get thee to a doctor. But someone else's injuries are not your own, and your knees or kidneys or bunions are not necessarily cookie-cutter identical to any other runner's.
Whether you're a beginner or an Olympic athlete, you have goals, and those goals are very personal. No personal goal is any less significant simply because someone else has already reached or "surpassed" it, and you have every right and reason to be proud of yourself for outdoing your own expectations, be they whatever they may.
People who criticize other people's diets are jerks. Period. End of sentence. Now pass the iced cream...

What do you do to undermine The Underminer, and what's the most annoying thing your best running frenemy has ever said to you?

* Apologies and gratitude to Mike Albo, whose Underminer is one of my favorite characters in history.

** Perhaps we should more appropriately call this person the Run-derminer...

Marathon Training: Embrace the Rainy Run

2012-09-04T08:00:00.001-04:00

It wasn't terribly long ago that I could easily talk myself out of lacing up when there were clouds overhead. The mere threat of rain might have me jumping back under the covers instead of facing the potential to get soaked, to have to wipe off my glasses every five steps, or get slowed down by blustery wind or oppressive humidity.

Then I registered for a marathon, and my opinions about meteorology changed completely.

A cloudy morning by the Hudson River, dodging single raindrops.

The first morning after I signed on the proverbial dotted line for the Maine 26.2 (which, by the way, is a scant three weeks away), rain was coming down in sheets when I woke up for my daily jog. I stood at the window watching it, reluctant to put on my shorts and strap on my gear.

Then it hit me: "What if it's raining on race day?"

You can't control the weather, and you certainly can't predict it when you sign up for a race several months in advance. I might roll up to the starting line in Portland in the middle of a torrential downpour. There could be sleet, wind, humidity, and other nastiness. It could be too hot, it could be too cold. But I'm determined to run it, rain or shine, and that means looking at every run until then as a test of my environmental fitness.

Embracing the rainy run (and the windy run, and the hurricane-warning run—which, for the record, I don't recommend) was not only one of the best things I could do for my training, but it was also one of the best things I could do for myself, period.

Realizing that a little rain (or a lot of rain) isn't going to kill me allowed me to enjoy what's pleasant about running in it, like a child splashing in puddles or diving into snow piles. Everything around you looks clean and green in a storm, and you don't have to worry as much about smelling awful at the end of it, since you're essentially standing in Mother Nature's shower stall the whole time.

Want to learn to embrace the rainy run? Here are a few tips to start:

Have a pair of back-up shoes. If you get completely soaked, it might take a day or two for your kicks to completely dry. Having another pair for the next day can prevent interruptions in your training.
Start slow. Especially if it's dark outside or the weather and fog are intense enough to make visibility an issue, don't charge out of the gate like a wild horse. The ground might be slippery, and you're probably not accustomed to running on a slick surface.
Lighten it up. If it's really coming down, or you live in a particularly foggy place, you might consider investing in a headlamp for those misty runs. It will help dodge obstacles that the weather itself may have put in your way, such as fallen tree branches or wet leaves along a pathway.
Enjoy it. Remember when you were a kid, and you didn't worry about getting your clothes wet or messing up your hair because it was just so darned fun to play in the rain? Tap into that memory, and try to let the rain feel like a refreshing gift. Imagine yourself in a Hemingway novel, or perhaps in a Peter Gabriel song: Rebirth, baptism, new life... You get the drift.

Do you run in bad weather? Have any tips for surviving the storm?

Running Is for the Birds (And Bird Lovers)

2012-08-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

I've always considered myself something of a bird person.

Photo by Flickr user deanbkrafft

Certainly not in a wearing-binoculars kind of way, and I don't keep notes of calls I hear in the park. Nor am I out there with my hands cupped around my mouth, imitating the call of the wild or anything. But I do come home from runs in a breathless swirl some mornings, describing the red blur of a cardinal or the blue-black glimmer on a starling I came particularly close to. There have even been sightings that made me stop in my tracks, staring into the determined face of a red-tailed hawk.

Or, you know, that time I saw a peacock perched on the side of a Fifth Avenue apartment building. No big deal.

Photo courtesy of Tamba Bay Online, oddly enough

Because I hesitate to misappropriate the conventions, culture, and ethics serious bird watchers follow, I think it's somewhat important to make a distinction: Am I a birdie, or a birder? Much like people who immerse themselves completely in the emotional universe(s?) of Star Trek are called Trekkies, and people with a more casual (read: less freaky-deaky) affection for the show are Trekkers. Maybe even that is going too far: Perhaps I'm birdish at best.

Whatever we might call me, however, I am definitely a wing nut. Something about birds just cuts right through me, and I've always been drawn to them. Thankfully, nothing has been more of a gift to my love of peeping tiny feathered friends than this running habit I've seemed to develop.

"What does all this have to do with running?," you might be asking yourself. Well, in a funny way I think birds and runners have an awful lot in common.

More after the split »

Getting Back on Running Feet

2012-08-21T08:00:00.001-04:00

Well, it's over. Two weeks of sprain pain, physical therapy (really? for a sprain?), a bevy of ACE bandages, and plenty of the most begrudging R.I.C.E. Two weeks of cross-training, interrupted by an occasional day too miserably busy feeling sorry for myself to do anything but cry like a little brat preteen whose parents won't let her use the telephone after 8pm: Waaaaah! My ankle hurts, but I want to run!

Two weeks of misery later, here we are. Back in the saddle.

Well, okay. Back on the treadmill—slowly but surely.

This silly sprain wasn't my first injury, by any means. Heck, I doubt it was even my worst injury as a runner. So I was absolutely shocked by how devastating I found it. Despite everything I've read about runners as being an odd, compulsive sort who tend to struggle with even the smallest of setbacks, I thought certainly I was practical and reasonable enough to muscle through marathon-training obstacles as they arose.

Turns out I was wrong: I'm neither practical nor reasonable about my running. At least, I havent been—until now, perhaps.

More after the split »

Confessions of an Injured Runner

2012-08-14T08:00:00.001-04:00

I don't even remember how it happened, but every runner's worst nightmare came true for me last weekend: I got injured.

This is not me, but I feel her pain! Photo by Flickr user shortCHINESEguy

At first it didn't seem like anything to worry about, just a nagging tweak in my right ankle. I even ran on it for two days without giving it much of a thought; it didn't hurt until I stopped moving—which I now know is a sure-fire sign that something's really the matter.

The more I tried to ignore it or "walk it off," however, the more the problem swelled—and so did my ankle, until it looked like some kind of over-squeezed supermarket avocado. Being smack-dab in the middle of marathon training, I decided not to take any chances, and made a podiatrist appointment for that very day. (ZocDoc, people: It's a real thing.)

"It's a sprain, and you'll need some physical therapy for it," the doctor said as he wrapped a bandage around my poor avocado. "I hate to tell runners not to run because they don't want to listen, but think of it as a short-term solution instead of a long-term problem."

That was Wednesday of last week. Three PT sessions later (lasers! electro-therapy! ultrasound!) and I'm still not back on my proverbial feet. I suspect there isn't a runner out there that doesn't sympathize, or understand the myriad fears and feelings whizzing through my head every waking moment (and some of the non-waking moments).

Will I lose all my training?

Will I become out of shape?

Will my ankle ever be strong enough to run on again?

Will I even still like running when I finally heal?

Of course, these all sound ridiculous and hyperbolic—even to me right now, as I'm in the thick of them all. I mean, it's not like I lost an arm in a buzz-saw accident or anything: It's just a minor sprain. But things like this can so completely throw a dedicated runner—especially one knee-deep in long-distance training—for a total loop.

So what am I doing about it? Well, aside from whining and feeling bad for myself, I'm trying to keep gently active by spending at least an hour a day on the elliptical machines at my gym. I'm trying to stay inspired and motivated by reading up on my favorite runners, watching recaps of the Olympics (go Mo!), and cheering other folks on from the Internet sidelines.

I'm also trying to eat clean and light, instead of going down the depression-dinner rabbit hole of potato chips and pizza every night. (Man, that pity party sounds so delicious right now.)

Even though I'll admit that I'm having a hard time feeling at peace with this process and taking it easy, I do take some comfort in knowing that, well, whatever happens happens: My running life isn't everything, and one injury isn't the end of fitness forever. (Remind me of this every once in a while over the next week or so, would you?)

And boy oh boy, is that first beautiful mile back on the road is going to feel amazing, or what?

What do you do to keep your spirits up while you recover from an injury?

Fitblogger Featured Blogger: "Stay Strong, Keep Smiling"

2012-08-07T08:00:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago, I was offered the privilege of being the Fitblogger featured blog of the day. Today, I thought I might share with you the piece I shared with that dynamic blogging community.

If you're unfamiliar with Fitblogger, you should check the site out: It's a great place to connect with other positive, fitness- and health-focused bloggers, and to collect new points of view.

Originally posted on Fitblogger, July 12, 2012

Stay Strong, Keep Smiling

"Lookin' great, girl!"

Those three words made my morning. It was just before 7am, and I was rounding the corner toward the last mile of a ten-mile run. The sun was shining; the sweat was beading up on my shoulders. I felt healthy, strong, and, quite frankly, ready for some breakfast.

I also felt joyful, alive, and free-but I didn't realize I was smiling until I heard those three beautiful, encouraging words, or the ones that came after them.

"Go gettem. Stay strong and keep smiling!"

I had noticed her halfway down the block. A stranger on her way to work or the library or the market: A tiny, shuffling older lady with a deeply lined face, who had stopped on her way and was watching me bound along toward her on the sidewalk, my silly grin as unmissable as my bright pink compression leg sleeves. As I approached she seemed to light up, her face stretching into a broad toothy beam. But it wasn't until I came closer that I could hear that she was urging me on, whooping at me as though she were a spectator at a race and I was about to tear through the finish line.

"Stay strong and keep smiling!"

I haven't always been strong, and I certainly haven't always been a smiling runner. Two years ago, I looked at running as torture, a kind of self-inflicted punishment I meted out upon myself for having dared eat a piece of cheese or a bite of pasta. If I so much as lustfully looked at food that my brain labeled "unhealthy," I felt obligated to run myself toward exhaustion, to escape the guilt I carried about fat, sugar, and my body image. I was trying away from the hunger pangs that had become such a constant companion I barely noticed them anymore.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, all I saw was ugliness and unhappiness, and I attributed it to not working hard enough or not having enough will power. Somehow I managed to simultaneously see myself as "too fat" (scrutinizing how my belly was swollen from hunger) and "too thin" (the hollows of my cheeks always seemed to catch the light just so in photographs). I pushed and starved myself like that until I was as crooked as a Z, my body barely able to stand up straight under the strain of no nutrition and too much exercise. And when the whole thing-my body included-cam crashing down (literally, my blood pressure dropped so drastically one night that I lay crumpled in a heap on the floor until a friend found me), I knew something had to change.

I was not strong; I was not happy. I needed help.

Help came in many forms: A patient and encouraging nutritionist I came to trust, who helped me see that exercise can be reward instead of punishment. A loving and devoted husband, who would hold my hand and remind me that every day was a new gift and a new opportunity to feel better. A network of friends and allies who lifted me up, and made me feel like I was worth fighting for.

And a new pair of running shoes: Good ones, strong ones. A pair that felt like clouds on my feet, not iron maidens. A set of sneaks that would lead me away from self-destruction and into self-love, self-trust. A gift to myself, a new beginning on a brand-new road.

"You want to learn to love running and to love yourself, right?," my nutritionist asked. "Well first you have to say, Thank you,' to your body for letting you run, and one way to do that is to fuel it properly."

She helped me ease back into balance, into a way of life that was active and healthy: Powered by whole foods and energized-not beaten by-sensible exercise.

Once I found my feet again-and my legs, and my arms, and the rest of the body that I had let practically disappear-I started to bound through my morning runs like a gazelle. (Okay, maybe not as gracefully as a gazelle, but bounding nonetheless.) I found myself looking forward to my time on the road or in the park, and I started glancing around and enjoying the scenery while I was out there. I saw birds for the first time, I shared shy smiles with other runners, I caught myself laughing whenever a Lionel Richie song would pipe through my headphones (which happens with somewhat unusual regularity).

And then I started to catch folks smiling at me as I breezed past. "Lookin' good!," they might shout, or, "Fast feet!"

It was contagious: The joy I felt at being in my skin spread to those around me, even for a second. So much so that a tiny old woman, her back bent with years and her skin like a well-used road map, felt the urge to stop shuffling along on her way to get my attention and offer a cheer: "Looking great, girl!"

Stay strong, keep smiling. And run yourself happy.

Is It Okay to Run in Public in a Sports Bra?

2012-07-31T08:00:00.002-04:00

On one particularly humid morning last week, I got fed up. It wasn't just hot here in New York City; it was hot and humid. Really humid. Like, 85% humidity humid. Like, I felt like I was running inside a mouth humid. Like, by the end of it I looked like I just stepped out of a pool fully dressed humid. My clothes were literally soaked: I squeezed fully a cup of sweat out of my shorts before throwing them in the hamper.

Brutal.

The next day, under a blazing sun and in the same thick hazy air, I decided that enough was enough. Why should I suffer under this hot, heavy technical shirt? ("Breathable fabric" and "moisture wicking" mean precious little on days like these.) Halfway through another drenched 11 miler, I gave up, stripping off my shirt and continuing on in just my sports bra, letting my skin cool off.

Photo by Flickr user jasonp80

The relief was instant, miraculous—and short-lived, as my eyes met a disapproving glance from one passerby, then another, then another...

Was I unintentionally scandalizing my neighborhood? I mean, I know I don't have a body like Lauren Fleshman or anything, but should that matter when there are guys parading their shirtless bellies around all the time in this city? My girls were completely covered, and I was still wearing shorts... So what could be the problem?

Bodies are beautiful, bodies do hard work, and boobs and stomachs are just a part of our bodies. In fact, I should be able to run fully topless if I were so inclined: There is nothing shameful about bellies, about breasts, about legs, about arms.

(Below the belt might be a different story to most people; at the very least, it's a different story in the eyes of the law.)

There is no difference between my shoulders and a man's shoulders, my stomach and a man's stomach, my bare arms and a man's bare arms: The only difference between my chest and his is that mine can sustain human life, which is a powerful gift of biology. What, then, makes this body unacceptable for public display—especially when nothing's really displayed—while no one thinks twice when a fellow of any shape or size strips off his T-shirt to cool down or catch some rays?

It has taken me a long time down a hard road to be comfortable enough with my body to even consider showing some skin, either on a run or otherwise, and I quickly realized that my self-consciousness out on this sweltering jog was all just the product of that gendered head trash. I could get over it, and did get over it, by smiling at folks as they gave me the Evil Eye, wishing them a good morning, and showing them one way or another that I mean no harm.

And I certainly mean no harm, people: It's just hot out there.

Stay cool, keep a strong head, and make sure you're in a comfortable sports bra (with moisture-wicking fabric).

The Agony of the Feet: Plantar Warts

2012-07-17T08:00:00.000-04:00

Runners tend to have pretty gnarly feet—myself included. Our toes take a beating, we develop righteously impressive callouses, our heels crack, our bunions ache, and we're prone to all kinds of gross afflictions like athlete's foot.

I've suffered most of the above at some point or another (with the merciful exception of athlete's foot…so far), but I've found that the most irksome problem of all is also one of the smallest: Plantar warts.

Photo by Flickr user Nicholas_T

Contagious, painful, ugly, and annoying, plantar warts can be picked up from wet showers, public pools, and other damp environments (i.e. don't wear the same gym socks several days in a row). They are often felt before you can see them, starting under the tough tissue of your feet and building outward into a knobby protrusion that can look rather like cauliflower florets with dark spots in the middle. (Warts like these tend to cluster, which can cause them to spread out across your foot skin.)

What's worse, they hurt like the dickens: Because the growth under the skin's surface is very hard, the pressure caused by every footfall on a run can be very painful. Untreated, plantar warts can grow to be astonishingly large, and if they become too big to respond to over-the-counter treatment, might require surgical removal. (DO NOT GOOGLE-IMAGE SEARCH THIS. Trust me.)

If you feel a tender or sore spot on the bottom of your foot—often but not always toward the outside of the ball area—inspect your skin under a bright light to see if there are any recognizable dark spots, which are a tell-tale sign of warts. (NB: Don't worry, this does not mean that you are a witch.) If you find some, you can sand down the tough, callous-like skin encasing the wart to get better access to it, after which you can use medicated bandages to treat the wart.

Available in the food-care aisle at most pharmacies, basic plantar wart treatment usually comprises an active element (e.g. a medicated adhesive disk meant to be applied directly to the wart) as well as a protective one, usually in the form of a donut-shaped padded bandage, which not only reduces pain but also keeps the wart-killing dressing clean and in tact. Such treatment can last up to 12 weeks, but I've found them to get the job done in half that time.

Be kind to these guys; they take you where you need to go. Photo by Flickr user chumley80

Have you ever had plantar warts, or any other foot affliction? I'd love to hear some rear-paw horror stories from other runners: Heaven knows I won't be walking around in open-toed shoes anytime soon…

Running Is My Recess

2012-07-10T08:00:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I get very self-conscious when faced with the question, "How much do you run?" Most people react to my answer with at the very least some degree of shock, but more often with a kind of skeptical incredulousness.

"Are you crazy?" • "Do you know how bad that is for your body?" • "That doesn't sound safe." • "Maybe you should cut back." • "You're going to burn out if you keep it up."

I mean, it's not as though I'm an ultramarathoner or an Olympian in training: I'm just a recreational runner who happens to log a lot of miles — generally around 50 or so a week. My regular ten-mile runs typically take just under an hour and a half, which means that most mornings I'm back in the house, showered, and sitting down to breakfast before 8am, ready to go on with the rest of my day. NBD.

And yet, people find out how far or how often I run and stare at me with gaping mouth, their index finger raised and waving back and forth in silent protest: "No, no, no."

Well this morning, fresh off a new flinch after being told I was probably doing irreparable damage to my knees, I thought the better of it: Why is it that when we run around for an uninterrupted hour as children it's called "play time," but when we run around uninterrupted for an hour as adults it's "insane?"

Photo by Flickr user Hamed Saber

What makes my morning jog any more potentially hazardous to my health than recess was in elementary school? Are my bones and muscles really that much more vulnerable with age? Am I not supposed to enjoy time alone being active; moving fast; thinking on my feet; and run-dancing along with Earth, Wind & Fire?

(It's the little shorts, isn't it? Just tell me it's the little shorts and let me get on with my run.)

No, but seriously: I understand that it's natural and human instinct and even very kind to be concerned about someone whose physical fitness and activity level seems unusual or extreme. Lord knows I've been down the extreme road before, and am used to having folks look at me with softened expressions as they try to talk me out of behavior either really or perceived as self-destructive.

But running? Running is fun! Running is my recess. It is to me what eating an iced-cream cone is to other people, or sitting down every night before bed with a good book and a cup of tea. It's something nice that I do for myself and no one else; it's something that brings me joy and peace.

If that's insane, then I guess I'm crazy. And I think I can live with that.

Running While Hurling Compliments at Strangers

2012-07-03T08:00:00.001-04:00

Even smiling runners frown sometimes.

Yes, even perpetually jaunty joggers like me have rough mornings (especially after, say, two frozen margaritas the night before), or limp a little in favor of a bum knee, or slog through humidity thick enough to fog your glasses. Sometimes, smiling seems as impossible as making it through one more mile, when you just want to curl up into a ball on the side of the road and let all the other bozos in their tiny shorts whizz by for all you care.

It happens sometimes, and it's okay to feel crummy once in a while. It's okay to have off days, and to feel like running is "work" on occasion, because, you know, it is. But it's not a permanent condition, and you can get yourself out of it. Heck, you can run yourself out of it.

When I've got a particularly nasty case of the Mean Reds, I try to trick myself out of them with a bit of good, old-fashioned reverse psychology. First, I'll simply try to literally force a smile. Studies have shown (studies are always showing things) that actions can influence psychology, and that movement impacts mood.

Doesn't she look like she's having a great time? (Maybe it's fake... for now.) Photo by Flickr user katapulsemusic.

To quote the poet Morrissey, "Does the body rule the mind, or the mind rule the body? I don't know." But I do know that there are times when the simple act of smiling can pierce the seemingly impenetrable fog of my misery long enough for my brain to recall something funny or delightful, and before I know it that beam is genuine. Boom. Mood lifted.

In particularly tenacious circumstances, there's one other tactic I've found to be nearly foolproof—though I'll wager it's not for everybody.

Compliment people.

I mean anybody, everybody, the first person you see. Strangers, park employees, policemen, little kids on bikes, whatever. Just lob niceties at them while you pass. "Great shirt!" is an easy one, or, "Lookin' good today!" I am often guilty of buttering up dog-owners by telling them how great their pup is, and I even caught up to someone in the last race I ran and said, "I have to tell you that you have really beautiful form." That last one wasn't even really true, actually, but it didn't matter: The fellow who received it suddenly exploded into a toothy grin, laughed as he wiped his brow, and said, "Oh honey, thank you for that, because I am dying out here right now."

Bad mood? Decimated.

That said, there are times, though, when you've just got to throw in the towel and hope tomorrow's better. (And then sit down with a pint of iced cream and a marathon of "The X-Files" reruns, because you've freaking earned it.)

That's okay, too. Not every day, not every run, and not every mood can be fantastic. No man alive can be Barney the g-ddamned Dinosaur all the time, after all. And when we are? I love you and you love me; we're a great big family.

Or... you know. Whatever.

What do you do to lift a nasty case of runner's blues?

What Makes a "Perfect" Body?

2012-06-26T08:00:00.002-04:00

I'll wager there isn't a single person on earth who looks in the mirror and thinks, I am perfect. There's always something that could be different, that could be "better." Maybe it's an off hair day, or maybe you wish you had longer legs, six-pack abs, fewer freckles, a smaller nose.

Statue of Olympian Harry Jerome in Vancouver, BC. Photo by Flickr user Mark Faviell Photos

Do you stand there in your skin in the morning taking stock of your shape and size? Do you heave a deep sigh and suck in your gut, stick out your boobs, smile with your mouth closed to hide the gap in your teeth?

Or do you say, "Good morning, body. Thank you for everything."

More after the split »

Guest Post from Smiling Runner Reyna: It Just Makes Sense

2012-06-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

We can all probably learn a thing or two from kids, but today's guest poster, Reyna, seems to have learned one of the ultimate running lessons from her daughter. Can bad advice from a "professional" be undone by rediscovering the joy a child feels while they're bounding around on a playground or through a field?

Let us in on the secret, Reyna!

(PS: When you're not trying to keep up with her outside, you can still follow her musing over at her blog, Quickly and Slowly.

Running always made sense to me. This is not because I’m particularly fast or strong or even a natural athlete; it’s because I’m impatient. I was always running everywhere as a kid, especially indoors, in a hurry to just get somewhere or to move on to something else. This is likely why I was always banging into things too. When I walked home from elementary school, I would usually run the last three blocks, so impatient was I to be home already.

To be honest, I still did this in my twenties, after getting off the subway from work.

To be honest, I still do this.

I mean, for whatever reason I'm still carrying around that kind of energy. It doesn’t even matter what shoes I’m wearing or anything: I am likely to suddenly break out into a run just to get somewhere faster. (The thing is, I once saw someone running up to the front doors of a supermarket—something I have certainly done—and realized that it looked a bit…crazy. This hasn’t really slowed me down.)

The minute I start running I feel exactly the way I did as a kid, that pure joy at being able to move as fast as you can.

But running for exercise, as much as it seemed to make sense to me, never felt quite right. Running on a treadmill was totally wrong, because you were getting exactly nowhere. Running outside was better, but here is where I made a crucial error: I took someone’s advice. Now, the way I naturally run is on the balls of my feet. Seriously: I don’t think my heels ever touch the ground. And that is exactly the way I was doing it when a friend of mine told me, no, you needed to run heel-ball-toe.

Heel-ball-toe, I had to say over and over in my head, in order to force my feet to work that way. Running this way made my calves hurt and it always made me feel like I was somehow making more work for myself, slowing myself down. I couldn’t see any way around this. I went to a running-shoe store and they filmed my feet as I ran on a treadmill (the idea that they have hundreds of hours of footage of this in their store is pretty great) and then gave me the shoes that they determined worked best with the way I ran.

Which, I suppose, was a total lie.

Meanwhile, because my brain seems so convinced that running needs to get you somewhere, my favorite way to do it was to get dropped off a certain distance (say, three miles from my house) and then to run home. I started doing this some years ago when I was actually training for a 5K race: It was so totally satisfying to just end up home after a straight run, no backtracking or anything. It was on one of these runs, while going down a fairly steep hill, that something simply clicked in, and I began to run exactly the way I used to run: On the balls of my feet. I could feel myself immediately getting faster, but even more so I could feel my entire body adjusting itself back to this. I was moving forward exactly the way that I wanted to. Now it made sense. Now I was getting somewhere.

This is the way I have run ever since. I don’t have to think about it, I just do it. And of course since then I’ve been told that some people have started training to run on the balls of their feet because it’s been shown that you actually go faster that way. A runner friend of mine even said that children naturally run that way, but that somehow people stop doing that at a certain point. I think about that when I watch my younger daughter run, her hands balled into fists, her fierce determination to get somewhere. "I love the way you run," I said to her once.

She looked at me with total surprise: "What do you mean, the way I run?," she said, as though there could be any other way to do it.

And she was exactly right.

Interested in telling your happy runner story on RUNNING WHILE SMILING? E-mail me: meister (at) justmeister.com.

Foods I Love: ChiaKindButter

2012-06-19T08:00:00.000-04:00

Thanks in no small part to Christopher MacDougall and a brilliant little ditty he wrote called Born to Run runners sure have gone chia crazy. (And while I don't mean pets, the people who brought you both Chia Cow and Chia Garfield are now also bringing you chia supplements and, yes, The Clapper.)

Ch-ch-ch-chia

But seriously, we love these weird magical little seeds, with their supposedly energy-giving mystical powers, their ability to turn the flubbiest weekend warrior into some kind of ultramarathoning superhero…right?

We'll put them in anything. Puddings, drinks, stews, oatmeal: Whatever you got, we'll chia the heck out of it. We can't get enough. We love how weird and slimy they get, the plump little suckers popping between our teeth in the morning after a long run, or in a homemade endurance gel at mile 12.

And then someone went ahead and one-upped us all by mixing the little beauties with runners' other favorite food: Peanut butter.

CHIA PEANUT BUTTER! It's a real thing. And I'm really obsessed with it.

NY Superfoods' line of chia-packed nut butters are not only ridiculously, almost unnervingly delicious (what's up, vegan dark chocolate?!), but they're also generous: A portion of the proceeds from each type of butter goes to support a different worthy cause like the NJNY Track Club and the Ulman Cancer Fund for Young Adults.

The taste is unmistakably nutty, but there's definitely something else there, too. In fact, the flavors I've tried (plain smooth, chunky dark chocolate, and smooth with coffee) have all reminded me a little bit of—funny though this might sound—papadums: Nutty (obviously) and salty (though they all boast a dry-roasted unsalted base), they also have a hint of some kind of vague unplaceable spiciness to them, which is unusual and wonderful and the undisputed star of my breakfast table every morning.

Try some yourself by ordering here—and FYI, yes, the chocolate versions are absurdly good. (You DIY types, however, should check out Holly the Healthy Everythingtarian's awesome homemade version.)

Okay... what else should we put chia seeds in, while we're at it?

NB: Reviews on RUNNING WHILE SMILING are the sole opinion of Meister, and are not the result of any sponsorship or compensation unless otherwise noted. I just love stuff, and I want to share it with you.

Guest Post from Smiling Runner Susan Beachy: Blame It on My M-I-L

2012-06-14T08:00:00.000-04:00

My dear friend Susan Beachy is actually one of the folks who first inspired me to hit the road: She was always posting ecstatic post-race photos and talking about how there was beer at the end of the annual Coogan's Salsa, Blues & Shamrocks 5K. (And if that's not enough motivation, I don't know what is.)

Susan even managed to coerce me into entering my first race—a four miler in the middle of a Central Park downpour in April of 2011—and as soon as it was over I knew I was hooked.

Besides her running exploits, she's one of my favorite pizza aficionados, and she also keeps up two delightful blogs that I love: Li'l Blog of Lists and Vegetarian Astoria. (Full disclosure: I include the latter here as a passive-aggressive attempt to get her to update it more often.)

Take it away, Susan!

Blame it on my mother-in-law.

Every year at Christmas, she bakes dozens of incredible cookies: raspberry bars, date pinwheels, candy bar cushions, and my favorite, sugar cookies with frosting. Our annual pilgrimage to the family home in Ohio used to leave me with a bit of extra weight that would disappear shortly after the holidays. When I hit 40, however, I found that the baked-goods blubber was staying put; for weeks after Christmas 2008, I was stuck at 129 pounds. I’m 5’3”, so this didn’t make me obese, or really even overweight. But when my size 8 pants became hard to button, I felt it was time to take action.

I'm sorry: I just had to. Pizza, pizza!

I signed on for a Commercial Weight-Loss Program That Will Not Be Named. On the program, foods are given a point value, and users must stay within their allotted number of points. You can earn extra points, however, by exercising. My customary 30 minutes on the elliptical machine at the gym garnered me one measly point—enough for a smudge of strawberry jam on my high-fiber English muffin. If I were to run, however, I’d earn three points for those same 30 minutes. Now we were talking about a tablespoon-plus of peanut butter.

Despite the lure of superchunk, running wasn’t an easy sell; I had always thought it was for chumps. For one thing, every runner I knew had been injured. For another, running was hard. I started out at what seemed a reasonable pace—six miles per hour—but found myself breathless after a few minutes.

What saved me? My husband, a man I lovingly refer to as Dr. Science, actually took the time to read the Couch to 5K instructions I had printed out, and suggested I take things a little slower. At a 5.5 MPH pace, everything became much easier, and I still got those three extra points.

I also enlisted the help of my sister, a longtime runner (and veteran of the 2005 NYC marathon). With her at my side, I ran my first race: a charity 5K. We followed that with five-mile Turkey Trots at Thanksgiving and various four milers in Central Park. (It must be said that she's always faster than me.)

To my amazement, I became a runner. Not a distance runner, and certainly not a fast one, but one who can complete a five-mile course in less than 50 minutes without having a coronary. What’s more, I managed to drop about 20 pounds and fit into size 4 skinny jeans.

I have, in fact, been injured: Plantar fasciitis sidelined me for a couple of months last year. With the help of a great podiatrist and a set of custom orthotics, I recovered fully and am back on the road. Unsurprisingly, I regained some of the weight; I now hover around the 117 mark and my jeans are size 6.

But you know what? I feel great, and I’ve never lost the thrill of crossing the finish line. And that, my friends, is the frosting on the cookie.

Interested in telling your happy runner story on RUNNING WHILE SMILING? E-mail me: meister (at) justmeister.com.

How to Deal with Hecklers

2012-06-12T08:00:00.001-04:00

Hecklers: Every sport's got 'em. The ancient Greeks probably endured them at the first Olympics, and we'll probably continue to endure them through to the end of time. You know them all too well: They're the jerks who run onto the field during soccer games, the clowns who shout in the middle of tennis matches, and any bozo who's ever let out a Bronx cheer at a baseball game.

Heckler at a race. Photo by Flickr user ewwhite

The difference when you're running, however, is that the heckling is often directed right at you, and you often get the oddly intimidating opportunity to stare your opponent directly in the eye. It can be unnerving and unraveling when you're not used to it or not expecting it, and nothing deflates a great run faster than the all-too-familiar call of, "Run, Forrest, run!," from a moronic stranger with an outdated sense of humor.

Here's a little bit about surviving the heckling, and even using it to your advantage.

More after the split »

Things I've Learned About Running... While Running

2012-06-05T08:00:00.000-04:00

01 Look down

Elite runners aren't the only ones who stand to earn a little money every time they lace up their sneaks: Do you have any idea how much money I've found just laying around on the sidewalk, simply because I'm up earlier and moving faster than 80% of the rest of New York City? I should really start a run-money savings account. (Or... I could just keep spending it. Whatever.)

02 Look up

Sunrises, cloud formations, birds on the wing, reflections against the glass windows of skyscrapers, fog across a river, and yes, the occasional rainbow. You may as well glance around every once in a while: After all, there isn't always money on the ground.

Photo by Flickr user Ami's

03 You can still PR if you take a PB*

...and it sure beats a BM during a 10K.

*potty break

Click through to read more…
More after the split »

Foods I Eat Every Day

2012-05-31T08:00:00.000-04:00

The more runners I meet and get to know, the more I notice how many of us are creatures of habit: We run the same routes, wear "good luck" shorts or bandanas in every race, are easily frustrated by interruptions in our workout routines, and tend to eat the same things pretty regularly—and eat a lot of them, to boot.

In fact, one of my favorite things about running is that it allows me to eat as much of the things I love as I want, though admittedly the vast majority of what I love to eat comprises "healthy" foods likes fruit and vegetables, whole grains, and lean protein.

In order to make sure my body is always ready for the work I ask it to do (i.e. run 50+ miles every week), I know I need to give it good, consistent, nourishing fuel—and that fuel had better taste good, while we're at it.

That means that once I find something nutritious and delicious, I tend to come back to it over and over (and over… and over…). For instance, I've eaten the same exact breakfast every morning for the past two years—and it's still my very favorite meal of the day!

Basically all I ever want to eat is a sandwich

Want to know what some of my favorite foods are? Click through for more daily deliciousness, and why every bite works for me as an athlete.

More after the split »