I love running when I’m away from home because it gives me new experiences; different terrain, sites, sounds, smells, and weather turn each run into a refreshing break from my old routine.

The other day, I had a very unique experience running while traveling. The weather reports had been talking about a tropical hurricane for some time, but it had been continuously downgraded and eventually became what we thought was just some rain and a bit of wind. A few kilometers into my run, the drizzle turned into rain which then became heavy rain. As I continued it started to become fairly windy. I was about 5 kilometers along a road lined with sugar cane fields when I noticed a dog standing in the middle of the road about a hundred meters ahead of me, just staring at me. I had to think about what action to take. It was early in the morning, there was very little traffic, and most of the dogs here have some Pit Bull mix in them. There was no sign of anyone else around. I slowed down so that I didn’t appear threatening. As I walked up I realized it was not a menacing looking dog at all but a cute floppy-eared Pointer. I looked around and asked him where his people were and then decided to continue on. The wind was picking up and the rain was starting to hit me sideways. The dog seemed a little nervous and disoriented, bounding from one field, across the road, to another field and back to me as I continued along my way. A lone car drove by and the dog clearly had no traffic sense as it just missed being in the road at the same time. I tried not to engage him as I did not want him to follow me – I was almost at the halfway mark of my loop and would end up 6 kilometers from where we were. The dog had other ideas however, and bounded along beside me as I turned down a more remote cane field road. I began to think this was no ordinary storm as the wind gusts were blasting rain sharply into my face and at times would blow me sideways nearly off my feet. My buddy was clearly terrified of the storm, as every blasting gust would drive him either into the cane fields only to return behind me a few seconds later or directly into my body as he sought comfort. (I later learned that the wind was blowing at 50 km/hr with gusts up to 80 km/hr.) At this point I realized we were in it together and there was no getting rid of him, so I patted him and offered him some comforting words as we continued along. Tree branches and debris from the storm were littering the road, and I ran the last few kilometers with my arms at my head to protect myself from whipping debris.

my tree-lined route on a nicer day

status of many branches after the storm

We finally made it back to our rented cottage and I left my poor shaking friend outside while we called the animal rescue shelter.

waiting trustingly – he’d clearly put his faith in me to get him safely home

It was a bit sad to drop him off – we’d shared an adventure together, but I knew his people were probably anxiously looking for him.

saying “good-bye”

Sure enough, within ten minutes of leaving the shelter we received a call that his owners were on their way to pick him up. I’m happy that my friend found his home, but strangely, even though I was with him for only a couple of hours, I miss him. Maybe it’s time to get a dog…

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the lessons and experiences I’ve gained through running have shaped much of who I am. I see much of the world through a running lens and it follows that I want to share that perspective with my children. I have a seven year-old son and a five year-old daughter. Of course I want them to share in my love of running by doing it alongside me and learning and benefiting from their own experiences in it. So no problem, right? Just encourage them to run, sign them up for kids’ races and kids’ running clubs and away we go. Ha!

It turns out kids (at least mine) have minds of their own. My kids have gone for runs with me (of their own accord) and have participated with varied success in kids’ events. My son also enjoyed going to his track club practices which I’d encouraged him to sign up for – it is a fantastic club with great coaches who introduce track and field to young kids in a very fun way. My son was always sweaty and smiling at the end. But then one day out of the blue he said:”Mom, you just want me to run because you do it. I have to find my own thing.” And that was it.

A few weeks ago when he still enjoyed running

Looking back, I know that my passion for running as a teenager came as my own form of rebellion and self-discovery. My parents knew very little about the sport and took a detached interest in my passion. Throughout my high-school career where I trained with a club two times a week and raced often, they never once came to a practice and I think they may have come to a race once and only because it was in the neighbourhood. I liked it that way. Every time I raced my mother would ask how I did. I’d respond with my time and she always had the same response. “That’s great! What’s your PB (personal best) again?” Because she had absolutely no reference point and had to be reminded of my personal benchmark every single time. I could say I ran the 1500 m in 4:36 or 5:36 (vastly different performances) and she’d be just as happy and proud of me. I ran only for me – there was absolutely no judgement or pressure from the people who mattered most in my life. I truly believe that’s why I’m still doing it more than twenty years later.

Now back to my kids. I want them to benefit as I did from running, but I understand that I cannot force it. I can only be a role model in the best way I can and keep doors open if they happen to decide to get into it. So I’m watching my son skateboard and play basketball in the same detached manner my parents watched me run. I respond to his delighted shrieks of “Mom, I did an Ollie!” with a smile and a “That’s great sweetie.” I don’t know what that is but he seems to be happy with it.

How could a 7-yr old boy find this more fun than running?!?

My daughter is still a bit young to have found a personal passion, but I like to think she’ll find one that doesn’t involve make-up and fancy clothes. All I can do again, is try to be a positive role model. I was floored a while ago when out of the blue she said: “Mommy? Beautiful girls don’t like to show their muscles”. Gulp! I guess her Barbies don’t have very much muscle definition. I quickly showed her the cover of my latest running magazine and said, “Don’t you think this girl is beautiful?” She agreed and changed her mind. Whew! Then a while later she was fussing over which dress to wear to a party and I said “It doesn’t matter. Look what I’m wearing!” My daughter’s response:”Yes, but Mommy – you’re not a pretty girl.” Some people might take offense at this, but I was proud. No, I am not a pretty girl. That is not what I DO. (I may have played her some Ani DiFranco after that).

Kate VanBuskirk – a better role model than Barbie!

I will continue to run and show my kids how it brings a positive influence to my life. If they do ever want to get into it, I will try to let them discover it on their own. I guess what I really hope is that they pick-up on some of the values which I’ve learned along the way; the importance of perseverance, determination, enthusiasm, a sense of fun and the self-confidence that comes from being yourself. Whether they learn these lessons through running or something else, I will be happy and proud of them.

I am lucky to have many good friends who have been with me through different phases in my life, from going to school in a new town, traveling, getting married, having kids, starting and changing careers, etc… Every now and then I start thinking about a friend or relationship in my life, and I trace it back to its origin. Most often, the origin began with running.

I don’t consciously choose friends because they are runners. In fact, many of my friends who became friends through running no longer run, or at least not with me. We get together now for other reasons like play-dates for our kids, book clubs, coffee, dinner. Running is rarely what we talk about, but it’s a background of common knowledge. We basically understand each other.

How I hang out with many of my running friends these days

One of my earliest formed “running friendships” began in grade 9. I was at a track meet waiting for my race and so was a curly-haired girl from a rival school and track-club. We started jumping on the high-jump mats (as one does in preparation for running 1500m) and it was instant friendship. Twenty four years later she is still one of my best friends.

Throughout high school and university I developed different interests and different sets of friends. The ones which have stuck however are mostly the ones which were formed around running. This seems strange to me as there are so many variants to my friends’ personalities and interests apart from having once been (or still being) runners. Some love to party, some are more reserved, some are funny, some are quiet listeners, some are numbers people, some are poetry people, some are parents, some are pet-lovers, some are peace-makers, some love personal drama. And don’t even get me started on the differences in their careers!

So why do I like all these very different and interesting types of people and why do they like me? I have NO IDEA! The only thing I can think of is that we were all once (or still are) runners. Somehow there is something in each other that we all GET.

Luckily I married one of these runner types. We met on the track team at university and used to run together a lot. Every now and then we’ll still go for a run together, but that’s not our main thing anymore. There are many different things that we do together these days, but I like to think it was all built on a foundation of running.

Marrying my best running friend

I hope to continue to make friends in life as I genuinely like people and benefit greatly from their friendship and company. I don’t know which friendships will continue to grow and last until old-age, but if my trend holds true, the ones which I’m continuing to make through running will be among those still there when we’re old and grey!

Running friends gamely learning to surf at my wedding

As most people who follow these things know, a new world record was recently set in the Beer Mile. James Nielsen recently ran under 5 minutes for the event which is an amazing feat. The Beer Mile consists of drinking four beers and running four laps of a track in sequence (beer, lap, beer, lap, beer, lap, beer, lap). This is an extremely grueling event. I know because I have run it numerous times and am the still reigning women’s world record holder. Beer Mile Records (yes, it was set in 1997 – I was basically a child prodigy in the Beer Mile).

I have heard many people talk of this event as if it is fun. I am writing this to clear that up. The Beer Mile is not a fun event. It is hard and it hurts.
My time of 6:42 = an average of 70 second laps and 30 second beers. My best 1500 m time is 4:36 – translated into a mile that would be about 4:57 mile. So counting my 30 seconds or so breaks for beer, my Beer Mile time required me to run pretty much as fast as I possibly could over that distance.

Here is how I recall the race playing out:

Race Day:
I’m nervous. I’ve tapered appropriately – done some strides the day before and a light jog that morning. I’ve eaten a good meal four hours prior to race time to ensure my stomach is expanded but empty for race time. I’ve not let myself drink beer for a week (a long time in University) in order to build up a thirst for it. The first one has to go down easily. I get to the track for my warm-up jog, then switch into my spikes for mobility and strides. My body has to be ready to run as fast as it can go. I line my beers up and find my place at the start.

The Gun:
The gun goes off followed quickly by the sound of dozens of beer cans being opened simultaneously. Many people are faster straight-up chuggers than me, but that’s ok. I focus on getting my beer down as smoothly as I can. The first one, of course, is the easiest. I hold my empty can over my head and take off. There are a lot of people in the game at this point. I keep Julia and Kerry in my sights. They’re both faster 800m runners than me and I’ve seen them both party pretty hard. I have no idea how competitive they’ll be. I run a hard 400m but have to start slowing down before the line in order to find my beer.

Beer/Lap 2:
I find my beer and crack it. I’m not completely winded yet so I can manage timing my breathing with my drinking. Gulp air, gulp beer, gulp air, gulp beer,… The second beer does not taste nearly as good as the first but I force it down. Onto the next lap. It takes a few strides to burp out the extra gas and start moving smoothly. I think Julia and Kerry are close behind me. A few of the guys are already at the 200m mark of their second lap. Down the back stretch I’m feeling like I’m back into the rhythm of running a normal running interval. Just focus on a fast turnover. At 200m my legs are burning but I’m used to this feeling from countless track workouts and can work through the pain to the end of the 400m.

Beer/Lap 3:
I desperately need to breathe and want to double over and clutch my knees but I reach for a beer instead and start gulping it down. It’s starting to taste like pure alcohol that’s been carbonated and I have to consciously suppress my gag reflex. I don’t breathe through my nose because the taste will make me stop drinking. I just have to put mind over matter, much like in the intervals, and focus on finishing it fast. I suspect my third beer is slower than the first two but it’s done and I’m off. The longer beer break has given my legs a bit more of a rest but again I’m forced to start slowly while my stomach adjusts to the volume. I find my stride again down the back stretch. I’m aware of a mix of beer, snot and saliva all over my face and front. I chance a glance behind and see Julia still working on her third beer. Dan is pulling up to her for his final beer. My goals are to be the first woman and not to get lapped. I round the bend and feel myself tying up from lactic acid as I run the last hundred meters of the third lap towards my final beer.

Beer/Lap 4:
As much as my body wants (needs?) to stop to end the pain of running at my top speed, I am dreading getting to the exchange zone for my last beer. I’m not sure which is more painful at this point: the beers or the laps. I want to slow down and I want to stop drinking. ONE left! I crack the can. I see Dan powering down the back stretch and coming up on the 200m mark. Don’t get lapped. Kerry’s still at the exchange zone working on her third beer. Julia’s on her third lap but I feel safe for the win. Just get it over with. I force the beer down in between gulps of much needed oxygen. I am aware that my face is contorting into grimaces of disgust as I try not to gag. Dan is coming down the home stretch. Done my beer! Off again for the bell lap. Running is starting to feel a bit weird. I’m not sure if I’m pushing as hard as I can as my head is getting fuzzy and I’m starting to feel numb. I just try to focus on the mechanics of running and of holding a steady rhythm. Finally the last turn. Once I’m on the last 100m I just focus on bringing it home. Jason sprints by me to avoid being beaten by a girl (I out-drank you buddy!) A few of the guys will try to nab me on the last lap. I reach the finish line and collapse in a heap of surging lactic acid, oxygen debt, alcohol, sweat and snot.

Final thought:
As I stagger off the track to avoid the drunken final sprinters and retchers to the side I think “that was the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever done. I’m never doing that again”. Then, five minutes later, once a good beer buzz has set in and I’m still high from endorphins I think “That was fun! I totally bet I could beat my time next time”.

Some of the early pioneers and authors of the Beer Mile’s “Kingston Rules”