Dead. Flat. Last.

I got a great, great email in my inbox today, from a runner who successfully finished her first half marathon recently.  That was the great part.  The part that had challenged her was one that’s common to many Plus Runners, and she was honest.  She wondered, fresh on the heels of finishing her first half marathon, if anyone else had the experience of finishing last in a race.  She said that but for another run/walker in her race, she’d have certainly been last in hers, and even considered dropping out.

That part of the email made me want to give her a big hug, because I know what it feels like to be there.  But her question was simple: Do you know anyone who has written about what it feels like to come in last?  So before I start here today, runners, I’m issuing an open plea: can you share your story with Tracy?  Have you ever finished last? Come close?  What was it like?  Post in the comments below, or over on Facebook, and let’s get real about what finishing last is like.

Here’s my experience.

I’ve finished last – officially last – in one very, very big race.  I’ve finished pretty late in a lot of races.  I’ve only ever dropped out of one race.  And I’ve only ever seriously considered quitting one other.    There’s a saying in the running community, which always sticks in my mind when I think about these races, and it’s like an equation:

DFL > DNF > DNS.

Dead Flat Last is better than Did Not Finish which is still better than Did Not Start.

Dead Flat Last

My DFL was in the 2008 Soldier Field 10 Miler.  (I offer you the link as proof.  Scroll to the bottom of the results, and you’ll see my name there.)  I had never run that race before, because I knew that the time cutoffs were aggressive for my pace (13:30 miles, when at that time, I was way over a 16:30).  I was pretty heavy then, and was training regularly but still not fast.  Chicago races run downtown along the waterfront are famous for many things – but for “back of the pack” runners like me, who had been running in them for almost 10 years at that point, they were famous mostly for one thing: incredible pressure to be faster than the “end of race” car.

By 2008, I had been a pace setter for the Chicago Distance Classic, the friendliest Chicago race there ever was, where runners were given plenty of time to hit cutoffs.  But I knew the challenge that race organizers faced each year to keep the police cars off the backs of the people at the end of the pack.  Chicago is a huge city and the police are on the butts of the people at the back of the pack to re-open the course as quickly as possible.  When I say I’ve been an advocate for the BOP runners, I mean it – just ask any of those folks in my pace group the last few years.

So, with that in mind, I tended to steer clear of the 10 Miler at Soldier Field, which was VERY clear about the end of race times.  That said, this one year, I agreed to run it with a friend, who wanted to do her first race there.  We were there on race morning (with my mom, a true treat, in the stands), and we headed off with the pack early and smiling.

By the first mile, we were already woefully behind the pack. This was a fast race, and we found ourselves relatively alone as we headed down an open stretch of Lake Shore Drive.  We would be mostly alone for the next four miles, run/walking down huge stretches of the famous street with no one – no cars, no people – in either direction.

That was a first for me.  I’d been slow before.  I’d been alone before.  But I’d never been slow and alone and last before.  In previous races, there were always walkers behind me, or others around to break up the pace.  I’d cut my teeth on large half marathons which were run/walk friendly, and this was something different.  This was a foot-by-foot reminder that we were holding people up.  I was panicked that we were going to get kicked off the course at every turn.  I was sure there would be no water, and the longer we went alone, the more I realized we probably wouldn’t finish on the 50 yard line.  And of course, that was my thinking – an experienced runner, who had nothing to lose with this race.

I was a horrible friend that day.  I pushed my friend to move faster, to try to cut some of the distance between us and the girl in front of us – simply because I didn’t want to get pushed off the course.  I thought if we could make it to the turn, we would be off the Drive and we could survive on the path.  But it was my friend’s first race, and I imagined she just wanted to finish.  That’s all I had wanted the day I first lined up – to finish.

The day of the 10 miler, a race marshall met us on a bike at Mile 6.  He stuck with us the entire way in – just making sure we could get there.  We had picked up an amazing, quiet girl who was out for her first big race ever.  She had been our “rabbit” for two miles when we caught her – slow and steady, our target to pick off.   She hadn’t told anyone she was racing that day, just in case she didn’t finish.  She didn’t look like a runner.  She didn’t have on running clothes, and she was holding an old Walkman to keep her company.  But she was nice as nice could be.  She had grown up with Asthma, and damn if she wasn’t going to finish that race.

I found myself holding back tears as we came up to the stadium, and “my” two first-timers were heading to the finish.  The director of the race met us outside the stadium, and took us down a special corridor to finish, on the field, as the last official racers.  We wove through guys holding beers in their hands and racers going “holy crap, there’s still people out there!”  Yep.  That was us.  We went through the tunnel.  We were on the field.  And the girls were sprinting, having a pretty cool finish.  DFL was just fine with me.

Those folks  - those race directors – didn’t have to do that for us – they didn’t have to let us finish – but they did.  And make no mistake, Race Directors make these very hard calls every day – whether to keep a race open for those last walkers, or runners, or to shut it down.  The good ones agonize over it, and stretch it as long as they can.  Two of the best are John Bingham and Beth Salinger, who have hearts of gold and the mindset of Penguins – in fact, John’s the original Penguin, and his races always made it okay to be last – in fact, even better than okay.  John started something called “The Balloon Cuties” – a group of women who walked at the back of any of his races, to gather up those who had fallen behind, and give them someone to follow into the finish.  Beth, who RDd for John and now runs a number of great races in her own right, continues that trend today, always making sure that there’s a welcome, kind, encouraging face on the back of her races, so that no one has to finish “last”.

Finishing last is hard on the heart.  But finishing alone, as Tracy mentioned, is harder.

Did Not Finish

In 2007 or 2008 (I’ve blocked out the year), I cut the course at the Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago.  I was two miles in, having started in my allocated wave, moving at a 13:30 pace, when the Chicago Police came up behind a huge group of runners and run/walkers and began yelling “WALKERS TO THE SIDEWALK PLEASE”.

I was pissed.  I was WAY ahead of pace.  I could see people one block over on a return route walking far slower than I was.  I knew that, at the end of the race, my pace would be far faster than some of them, but I was going evenly.  But that didn’t matter.  The cops were clearing the streets, and my heart rate was way up, and I could either sprint for the next few miles, or I could cut it and go home.  I was mad at being rushed; I was mad at the unfairness of the race, and I was mad in general.  I cut the block, chopping off at least a mile and a half, and headed into Grant Park for the finish.

I knew two important things that day, both of which made me A-OK with that tactic:  first, my mind was not in the race.  I was way too angry to have a good finish, and while I could have gotten it under control, this was an 8k race that didn’t mean anything to my training plan or my goals, and it just wasn’t worth it to sprint, or get hurt, or feel that much pressure.  Because EVERY step I took in that race made me think “I am NEVER going to be good enough to run these races.  I am NEVER going to be strong enough.”  And you know what?  That’s JUST. NOT. TRUE.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew that to give myself a mental beating for the next three miles wasn’t worth it.  So I quit.  And I was very okay with that decision.

Fast forward to the winter of 2009.  We were in Arizona for the RNR Half.  It was a hot day, and I was not entirely race ready.  About 8 miles in, I was hurting pretty bad.  There was no shade, and there was horrible replacement drinks, and I was pretty miserable.  Plus, owing to a case of plantar fasciitis that I hadn’t really addressed, my pelvis was starting to flare up in a way that, I was certain, felt like it must feel to have a baby.  By which I mean, not entirely pleasant.

I knew the course fairly well, and I was pretty sure that there was a chance to cut it to get towards the finish.  I considered it.  Heck, I think I even asked someone.  But there was simply no shortcut to get me home.  I probably should have stopped then, but I kept going.  It was quiet.  And I had a long time to think about my body, my health, my friends.  It felt like years.  I remember thinking “just get to the next water stop”.  And then “who can I talk to?” I struck up conversations with other walkers nearby, and that passed the time.  But it was tough.  Eventually, I came to the finish, and got my medal, and almost cried.

With my friend Lisa before the RNR Arizona. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. and we had already driven to the wrong place AND had a speeding ticket!

All of which is to say that being in the back can be challenging, and it can be lonely.  There’s something to be said for running in big races with generous finishing times – where there’s always a walker around to keep you company, or a charity group with coaches on the course.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there was probably one thing which made it much easier for me to run long races for the first few years of my running time – and that was that I joined a running group – and those people were always around – and I happened to find a friend who was at my pace.

For several years, every race I ran, I ran with my new friend.  I can say without a doubt that I would not have gotten through my first race if it weren’t for her, and probably quite a few after.  We distracted one another; and when I had a shitty day, she kept me focused.   So if I have any advice for you, it’s to find a local group of new runners, and try to find someone to train with who’s at your pace.  If they’re not present, keep going back to the store or the group until they turn up. And believe me, they will.  There are always people trying to join the club – but we dont’ stick around much if we don’t feel welcome.  So stay, and be the welcome committee.  Or better yet, start your own group in your area.  Talk to a local run shop about a run/walk or a “slow runner” pace group for the weekly runs.

Don’t be afraid to go it alone – but don’t let it stop you from finding the friends you need, either.

Don’t let it make you a DNS.  Cause that math up above is right.  Anything is better than DNS.

See you on the path.

From the first 5k to the Olympic track – it’s safe to say I had no idea when I started that running would become so important to my life!

It’s been a great month for questions, and I thought I’d take the chance to pluck one from our Q&A page (thanks, Wendie!) and answer it for today’s blog.

“I would like to know what it was like for you when you started running – what kept you motivated and how you worked through feelings of being bored (if you get bored) while running. I would like to know what your original running plan was, the pace you worked through it and how long it took you to get to your first race.”

Thanks for the question, Wendie.  When I read it, I was out of breath, just thinking about what it was like! I think what started me running (regularly) was a feeling that I wanted to be able to keep up with a new group of friends i had found.  They were playing softball, and football, and ultimate frisbee, and I was a recovering law student who literally couldn’t stay vertical on a softball field while chasing a slow grounder to center.

I talked to one friend, then another, then another, and we agreed to train for a 5k about 10 weeks out.  I was helped immensely by running with a kind, patient, incredibly awesome friend who had been running for awhile – Kristin found a 5k training program for us, and, running with three of my friends, we took to the streets 3 days a week (at a minimum).

I won’t lie.  I sucked wind for those 10 weeks.  We built up the way the program said we should, but my friends were lighter than me, and they just didn’t have to work so hard.  But they went slowly (for me) and ran with me the whole time.  They were amazing.  And the biggest gift they gave me was to carry the conversational weight while we ran – distracting me from the distance and keeping me entertained.  With only 1 or 2 miles to go every time we went out, I eventually was able to talk a bit too.  That felt good.

Staying motivated was easier with a race in mind – we paid early, and a few weeks in, we recruited even more friends to join us.  Suddenly, we were meeting one night a week (I think it was only one), 7 or 8 of us (most who had never, ever considered doing this) traipsing around North Center in Chicago in a simple grid pattern, knocking out our miles and having a ball.  Yes, I was generally at the back – but no one ever got left behind.

So, I would say that thanks to friends, there really wasn’t much chance to be bored.  That, plus I had quite a bit going on in my life, means that I really enjoyed the time to think. And, a nice side effect of running was that I was getting to know Chicago’s neighborhoods – something i hadn’t spent a lot of time to do.  I loved to check out the view from the sidewalk – looking two stories up to check out the different crown work on the buildings I passed.  I find even today, I have the same approach – keeping my eyes towards the horizon to see what’s out there…

And as for training plans and pace, I have a note out to one of my old friends, asking her to confirm – but my recollection is that we used a light, building up training plan – we built up very slowly, going from 1/2 mile and up in minor increments, over 10-12 weeks.  And to the best of my recollection, we didn’t run/walk – we just ran, flat out.

As for pacing, I started running at 245 pounds, and I think by the time I was doing our race, I was down to about 220 (I’m 5’9″).  I was running with faster people – so most of my training runs were “4″ on an effort scale of 1-5, with “5″ being all out – not the way I’d train today, to be sure.  That said, it made me faster, and I ran about a 13:30 pace for that race and the others that year.

As for training plans, there’s a lot of options out there, but I would recommend anything from coach Jenny Hadfield; you can also purchase the plans via Walk Jog Run as an app for the iPhone for only $4.99. And there are loads of free plans out there – lots of people like Couch to 5k (commonly known as C25k) – my friend Scott just finished his race using that plan – and one other option is to take something that you know is a healthy plan to get there, too – presumably, something like this one from Girls on the Run St. Louis might work (though I worry it’s only 6 weeks!).

In my experience, stretching it out to 10-12 weeks is safer, and helps you avoid the shin splint problem you’re having.  Your body needs time to recover on this stuff – and a serious increase in mileage (more than 10% per week) puts you in prime spot for trouble.  So stretch it out if you can.

All of that aside, race day was pretty cool. And today, 13 years later, I can still picture in my mind, those fun training runs (and the side stitches, and the sweating, and the lack of O2!) with my friends.  They’re cherished memories for me – and to the extent you can add some humans to your journey, they’re the best motivators you can find.

Good luck and keep us posted on the journey!

Sallie

Not anymore.  In the past few years, manufacturers have slowly begun to offer running, cycling, and triathlon apparel ranging from sizes from 16-24.  Danskin, Moving Comfort, Nike, C9 for Target, Pearl Izumi, Zoot, Terry Bicycles, New Balance, Sugoi, REI, Junonia, and Aerotech Designs each offer apparel in a variety of sizes, technical sophistication, and styles to suit everyone from the first-time Sprinters to the returning Ironman.  For many women, though, selecting training or racing apparel online (the only location most are sold) remains a challenge.

As an Athena with her eye on the Virgin London Triathlon in September, I’m searching for a multi-purpose top for run and bike training, and a pair of cycling capris and shorts for my daily ride to work and weekend long rides to the country.  I’m also in need of a new racing kit (top and shorts).  Here’s a quick view to how I’ve selected my kits, and a few rules to keep in mind as you shop this season.

1.    Prioritize your needs.   Purchasing Athena triathlon clothing requires compromise.  It’s unlikely that you’ll find a piece which is as flattering as your favorite little black dress, in the color you were born to wear, with the technical fabric worthy of an Ironman, at a bargain price.  Before you begin, consider what’s most important to you – and assess your options accordingly.

This season, I want comfortable training apparel that looks great.  On the bike, that means flat seams, great fabrics, and a women’s specific chamois; for both cycling and running, I want a multi-purpose top that fits but isn’t too baggy, and won’t catch the wind.

For my racing kit, I want a supportive and fast-drying, cool top which will fit under my wetsuit; and a pair of racing shorts with a stash pocket.  Both should be quick-drying but supportive fabric, with no risk of chafing.  Great colors are a bonus.

2.    Your measurements rule.  Write down these three measurements:  the widest part of your bust; your natural waist; and the widest part of your hips.  Understanding your sizing makes reviewing apparel options simple and eliminates unnecessary purchases and returns.  Generally speaking, once you know your sizing, you’ll also understand which manufacturers you can rely on for purchases.

From smallest to largest (Size 16 or XXL to Size 26), search for your apparel from retailers in this order: Zoot, Sugoi and Pearl Izumi; Danskin, Moving Comfort, and New Balance; and Terry Bicycles, Nike, Aerotech Designs and Junonia.

At 44-38-49 (measurements I’m certain my grandmother and mother will be appalled that I’m admitting, but which I offer in service to you, dear reader),  I limit my search to those with generous XXL sizing and dedicated plus sizes.   

3.    Select clothes that are well made and fit you well – and which may not be specifically made for triathlon.  Triathlon apparel tends to run very close to the body, which can be a challenge for many Athenas.  But racing in baggy, cotton clothing can lead to painful chafing and make you look bigger than you are.  Why bother when there are plenty of clothes out there which can fit you properly?  For my search, I select clothing no more than 1.5” larger (or smaller) than my measurements.  I also considered running, yoga, or other cross-functional tops in addition to triathlon-specific tops.  Not sure what’s a technically superior short?  Look for flat seams, quick drying fabric, a non-bulky chamois, and comfortable leg openings.

The final selections

For training – comfortable gear that gets the job done.

The Shirt. Nike’s Extended Miler is great for everyday running and cycling.  (MSRP $42, 1X-3X)

The cycling capris. Terry Bicycles’ Knicker Plus capris (MSRP $100, 1X-4X) are  comfortable and ultra-flattering, and make early morning or evening rides a breeze. 

Terry's Knicker Plus tight handles the morning commute and then some.

The mac daddy training short. Pearl Izumi’s PRO In R Cool short (MSRP $150, XXL fits to 47.5” hip, with just enough stretch to suit our 49” tester) is a technical dream with non-binding waist and leg openings and a UPF 50+ that can cool the body’s surface temperature up to 5%, a significant benefit for plus-size athletes who can be challenged with temperature control.  

These shorts. The fit of an amazing piece of technical gear, great chamois. Check PI's sizing charts for details.

For racing: a kit to take you to the finish.

The swim/bike/run short.  Danskin’s 7” Tri Short (MSRP $52, to XXL/ 20 ) is long, lean, and worry free with flat seams, a light racing chamois; multi-panel, wicking construction; silicone leg grippers and a small back zip pocket.  A tried and true tri short practically fitting most up to size 22. (available at Danskin.com or REI.com).

Nike’s Women’s Shape Sport Top (MSRP $55, 1X-3X) isn’t made for Triathlon – but it serves a purpose for Athenas, works great under your wetsuit and promises to dry quickly.  Sturdy shelf-bra included; but feel free to supplement with your own.

For about 10 years, that’s how it went for me.  If I ran a bad race, it was usually on me – I either hadn’t trained enough, or hadn’t thought through the course.  If I got hurt it was on me.  I didn’t stretch enough, or I didn’t stop when the pain told me to.  In 2009, when plantar fasciitis reared its head while I was intermittently running (and still training), I didn’t listen up and slow down, and I paid in the end, with a two year condition that only recently healed after two bouts of PT and finally, a quick surgery.

Those of you who read regularly know that I moved to London from Chicago in 2011.  It was 10 weeks after surgery, and those first few weeks, months in London were tough.  I was in trainers every day, and the pain was still pretty regular.  By summer, it was getting better.  By September, it was gone.  I felt strong, and I had lost some weight, and I started to run again.  It was awesome.

I ran on the common by my house, and on the road when I traveled.  I ran so much when I was home in Cincinnat and Chicago at Christmas that I felt like I would never stop running again.  I felt the kind of joy that I remembered from those first days of running.  And so when, in mid-February, it snowed here, I felt like a kid who’d won the lottery – lucky, lucky, lucky to get to run on one of my favorite vistas – a park in snow.

I laced up my trainers and went out for a run.  It was a bit squishy – a bit slid-y. A bit wet.  I caught up with my brother and nephew building a snow fort, and we had a great time.  I ran home, and all was well.  And three hours later, I left my house to go to a Superbowl party, slipped on a patch of ice in front of my apartment, and felt my knee slam into itself in a way that wasn’t good.  I held up, and held on, for a minute.  Then I kept walking to the train.  By midnight, mid-way through the game, I couldn’t go down the stairs without it locking up.  The next day, I compounded the mistake in a pair of heels at work.

Six weeks later, I have the diagnosis.  I’ve been benched for that time, icing, resting, ibuprofening away here, and it’s not gotten any better.  Well, technically, that’s not true. I can now go down the stairs without flinching (but not without a rail).

I’ve managed to tear the meniscus in my knee in two places.  One on the inside left, one on the center of my left knee.  One would likely heal.  The other, not so much.  The doctor tells me that there’s an easy procedure to clean it up, a keyhole surgery where they trim down the cartilege or something and that makes it better.  I’m working out the logistics of a second opinion, a schedule, and a plan.

In the meantime, I’m pondering luck.  Maybe I’ve been lucky all these years to have so few injuries.  Maybe I’ve been stronger, and maybe now I’m just old and out of shape. I don’t really know.  I do know that this makes me want to throw things at a wall, and that’s not so good.  So I’m going back to the original plan – to have one.  Get a doc. Get an opinion. Get the surgery.  Get back out there.

Lucky as I may have been, I never saw that patch of ice, and I had no chance to adjust.  I was unlucky.  It happens.  So now it’s time to get to the pool, and walk while I can, and bottle the frustration of living in this lovely city which makes cycling a bit too dangerous and swimming a bit too inconvenient.  The excuses will have to go for awhile, while I try to get the groove back.

Luck’s a bitch.  But she’s got nothing on me, and my plan.

See you on the path….

Mid-run with my nephew on London's Clapham Common during a recent snowstorm. The Kid and my brother certainly were fort-a-licious.

So, in no particular order, some not-so-inspirational Plus Runner updates for the week.

I might be racing on an Olympic track.I know, it’s scary.  But there’s this thing, and it’s through work, and I might just get to run a 100 meter dash on the Olympic track in London in early April.  COOL, eh???  I maintain it might be the slowest finish ever, but can you imagine???

I might be slightly hobbled in that endeavor by a torn MCL.  Yeah.  I’m trying to pretend that the screaming pain every time I step wrong on my left leg is just a figment of my imagination.  But it turns out that either a) not wearing heels for two years and then doing some downward stepathon in them might not have been the best plan or b) that sliparoo on the ice the day of our big snowfall here was worse than I thought.  In any case, I’ve been running-free for three weeks, and I am officially. a. lunatic.  Back to the pool, right?  At least till a doc gets up in there and tells me what’s the what.

Big races are lining up. Have you picked yours for the year?  More to come on this, but I did officially make the London ballot for the Olympic distance triathlon.  Here’s to recovering from whatever _this_ is and kicking butt come September.

But in the meantime, how terrible am I at 100 days of anything?  I biffed again this year on the 100 days, but MAD PROPS to Cindi Hammer and all the kids out there doing 100 days proud.  I am nothing if not humbled by your continued inspiration for the rest of us.

Tick tock. That’s the sound you hear of me eagerly awaiting the Spring 2012 Triathlete Magazine Buyer’s Guide, which should include a piece about the best triathlon apparel for plus size athletes (written by yours truly). Word’s still out on when it will hit the stands, but keep your eyes and ears peeled.

I learned how to fence last week. Gingerly, yes, but it reaffirmed my belief that you’re never too old to learn a new sport. Or to be a hyper-competitive crazyhorse who believes in fair play and rules, rules, rules.  It’s amazing they let me play team sports sometimes, I swear.  But honestly, fencing? Very cool.  And doesn’t require massive white bodysuits either, which was a refreshing realization.

We’re gearing up for spring travel around here.  Kruger National Park (South Africa) and Talinn, Estonia (not to mention a possible side-o to Dusseldorf) are all in the makings.  Got a recommendation?  A road or a hike I can’t miss?  This knee will NOT slow me down – send me your best stuff!!

And now, the good stuff.  Who needs free gear???  I have a few pieces of gear that were sent as testing pieces for this recent article, and though a few are dedicated to some of my besties, there will be at least one upcoming contest for readers….so watch this space for more news – the contest will be announced next week to celebrate the Plus Runner’s 3rd birthday!!!

Okay, gotta go get some shut-eye now.  Thanks for the readin, and see you on the path.

Oh, and one more coolest as all cool thing…my good friend Cindi was kind enough to nominate Plus Runner for a fitness magazine blog award.  How cool is she?  Very.  But if you’re feeling the luvvvvv, please have a vote.  And even if you’re not, well, thanks for stopping by…

What amazed me this Saturday wasn’t that the Channel exists; it’s that it took me 9 months to realize it’s a fifty minute train ride to get there.  How did I not know this?  How had I wasted so many weekends in my apartment, watching re-runs of True Blood or reading the latest novel, while this gorgeous countryside awaited me?

I wasn’t disappointed in the trip.  My friend from work and I (Carolina, she of the blue top in the pics below) met up with a Meetup group who offered a guided hike (great when someone else does the navigating!).  All we had to do was show up at Liverpool Street Station at 9 a.m. I, of course, was late.  But I wasn’t so late that I didn’t make the train – and I met some really cool people along the way.  Below, a few pics from the trip (because y’all occasionally ask)!  Yes, you’ll note that I’m hiking in jeans (a first for me). I  wouldn’t normally, but it was an okay way to go, even if the mud was up to my ankles by the time we got back on the train.

And also, a word about the views – this place was really spectacular (it’s called Leigh on Sea) and it’s going to be host to the mountain biking course for the Olympics for 2012.  And the best part about it, yes, was the small sea town at the end of our journey.  Ironically, we never got to the wide open beach-type view you expect; but for a little while at the end, we stood by the sea wall, and watched a great sunset, enjoying the freshest fish and some excellent company.  I’d write more, but there’s nothing pithy or wise to say about it – I went, it was fun, and I’ll do something again. All in all, an excellent adventure for  a fifty minute train ride just East of London.

Carolina leading up to Hadleigh Castle

Walking into the castle grounds- it was on a fault line and shortly after built in the 13th century, began falling off a cliff. Literally.

Don't I look like the picture of fun? Yeah. It was pretty cool. That's the sea behind me in the distance.

Why am I talking about these girls?  Simply put, I think I can make a better list.  See, lately, I’ve read some pretty interesting “lists” of advice for mothers, and daughters.  There’s Tina Fey’s hysterical prayer for her daughter.   There’s the “50 Rules for Dads and Daughters” , and then there’s Sheryl Sundberg (CFO of Facebook)’s commencement speech at Barnard College last year, where she dishes out bits of advice for young women graduates (if you haven’t read it, do.)  They’re all occasionally inspiring, touching, and left me hoping that my accomodation of these lists would involve a bell curve.

But seeing as how I’m neither a highly paid comedienne, nor running the Finance function of the most successful internet company (ever), I figured I’d have little to share which might add to this ListMania.  But then I remembered (especially according to an excellent Saturday Night Live skit this weekend), in today’s day and age, I can say ANYTHING!  And it will be AWESOME  (I kid).

No, seriously.  I honestly just felt that there must be some general guidance out there for the parents of little girls who might, one day, become athletes.  There’s lots of them out there, and as a former Little Girl Who Played Sports, and adult Coach of Little Girls Who Loved Playing Sports, and as a current Advocate for Adult Big Girls Who Love Playing Sports, I thought I’d have something to add.

So here, in the spirit of the Plus Runner, is my best advice for your daughters, distilled into a few pithy comments that hopefully make you smile.  Happy Monday.

1.  Get your daughter to try every sport you can, even the ones that will make her dirty, sweaty, and scare you to death.  Every time she does, she’ll find out a bit more about who she is, and what she loves – even if it scares the heck out of you.   Also, learn early that there’s no faster cleanup than covering her in a Hefty bag while entering your car and hosing her down with the garden hose on exit.

2. Encourage her to play solo sports, and as part of a team.   Solo sports teach her that she can, in fact, be terrible and still find something rewarding in it.  They also teach her the power of her own steam and the strength of her own body.  Team sports teach her the joy of helping her friends win, crushing the opposition, and the feeling of letting a team down.  Don’t underestimate any of these things, and their role it will have in helping her join the workforce in 20 years.

3. She’s not going to be good at every sport.  Well, mostly.  Get over it.  And let her figure it out.  If she cares enough to want to be on the “A” team, she’ll practice more.  She may or may not get better, and make that team.  In either case, she’ll probably still be playing something, (a win) – and chances are she’ll probably enjoy it more than doing her homework.  And yes, she’ll learn that sometimes, other people are actually better at something than you are.  Again, a valuable lesson in today’s age.  (Oh, and when she gets cut from that team you think she should be on, DO NOT appeal the ruling.  This is not the Supreme Court of My Daughter is Awesomeland.)

4. Learn how to complement her play.  This is not to be confused with spewing BS at every available juncture.  Giving true, favorable praise will do more for her confidence than fabricated platitudes.  Learn the game she plays well enough to do this for her, and remember that for every one criticism she hears, she’ll need to hear four positive comments to counter the hit to her self esteem. Don’t let this prevent her coach from coaching her – but let the coach do the dirty work if you can.  If her coach seems unlikely to ever learn the balance, introduce them to Mr. Jackson’s program, above.  It’s pretty cool, and it works.

5. Play her favorite sport with her, even if you’re terrible.  Also, you are allowed to get dirty, and sweat.   Seeing her parents play helps reinforce the fact that you value it.  Growing up, I remember playing soccer with my father, and even golf (!) with my mother.  Neither one of them loved those sports, but they did it to spend time with me.  Your kids know you’re no Pele or Anika, and that’s okay – it’s the effort that counts.

6. CAN’T is a four letter word.  Never tell her she can’t play a sport – always, always let her try.  Even if you think she can’t hack the physical demands, or doesn’t have the coordination, let her learn the lesson on her own.  So she’s not good: put her on a lower-skilled team and let her learn.  Not fit enough?  Coaches expect this, particularly in recreational leagues today.  Let her play into shape – in the right league.  If you’re not sure how to handle it, talk to a coach, but do everything you can to encourage her to keep playing.  The longer she stays a part of organized sports, the higher her self esteem, less likely she is to engage in risky sexual behavior, and less likely to be brought down by depression and anxiety.  

7. Let her play with boys.  She’ll never forget the feeling the first time she scores a goal against a boy, fields his line drive down the third base line, or powers a forehand past him, and she’ll realize that her talent – and her drive to win and succeed – is absolutely comparable – a feeling you certainly want her to remember when life gets slightly more complicated a few years down the road.

8. Teach her that emotion has a place in sports, and sports has a place in emotion.  Let her cry when she loses and scream when she wins.  And when she throws on her shoes for a run, or turns to a hitting wall or a punching bag when she’s mad, let her go, so she learns that this healthy way of dealing with things (as opposed to The Alcohol, The Food, and The Drugs)  will always be there for her, whatever the win or loss.   Regardless of this, also make her shake hands with the opposing team, every time, no matter how angry, sad, or frustrated she is with a loss.  It is, after all, just a game.

9. Teach her that sport has no use-by date.  Find one sport you can play – whatever it may be – and play it for you.  Show her that lifelong athletics are rewarding – that sweat’s not for kids and professionals, but moms who work hard, and make dinner, and drive carpool, and still make time for tennis or soccer or running.  Show her that lifetime fitness is joyful and fun.

10.  Support girls and women in sports.  She may never have the option or the interest to go professional in Lacrosse, or Fencing, but there are college teams with Olympians and pop up pro leagues all over the world.  By supporting them, you show her that you value their athletic talent as much as men – and in today’s day and age, when we women all expect equal pay for equal work, it’s good to put our money where our expectations are.  For more information, check out the NCAA, the Women’s Sports Foundation, or the US Olympic Committee for a few ideas.

I guess in closing, the only question I have is this: how many of us can say we meet these expectations every day?  Do we all need to be graded on a bell curve? Probably.  But it sure is nice to have a target, isn’t it?

See you on the path!

The ruins will not be on tomorrow's route.

I’m cycling to work again tomorrow. It’s been months since the last attempt, but the weather looks good and I’m getting some lovely positive peer pressure. But just in case I want to bail in the morning, a list of reasons why I should:

10. The vertical shower stall at the office means I won’t have to shave my legs tomorrow – yay!

9. No chance of a repeat of today’s conversation on the tube, overheard by the 25 year old dude and his roommate next to me (all of us, armpit to armpit): “Ah, the lovely smell of Old Spice”. “Really? I can only smell cedar chips.” “Yeah, but just wait until it’s raining again.” “Yeah, the worst is those Barbour coats, they just waft.” I almost woozed just listening to them.

8. The Thames.

7. Westminster.

6. Two pounds and thirty pence (X 1.60 dollar conversion) X2. That pays for lunch, every day. Well, at least tomorrow.

5. Forces early arrival and on-time departure from the office on account of traffic.

4. Get to play “Frogger” with real life sample sizes. (Music optional.)

3. Chance to work on my British swear words and slang (directed only at what promises to be evil cabbies and double-decker bus drivers)

2. Enjoyment of being an “amateur” pedaling at my pace while annoyed London cyclists zip around me and huff. Nothing more fun than pissing off an angry commuter.

1. The look on the guys faces at the office when I finally show up. The smugness of the Boy Mafia does wear thin after a while….

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 25,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 9 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.