Labels

For years, I loved labels. I was a runner and I wanted the world to know. I wanted to look like a runner and I wore that label everywhere I went. I loved it when people came up to me and said, "You must be a runner." Often they would add a "You're so thin" or "I can tell by those long lean legs" or some other comment on my weight/body type.

I am still a runner. I am also a mother, a caretaker, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a Sunday school teacher, and the list goes on... But I am so much more than that. We are all so much more. I no longer live my life by labels. These labels are such a miniscule part of my life and part of who I am, thankfully.

I had a great conversation with a close friend of mine this week who decided to start working out with a personal trainer. She is not an athlete, never has been and does not enjoy exercising. She loves her body. She is a beautiful woman inside and out and lives by the motto that we are all gorgeous and we should all accept and love our bodies just as they are. Like myself, she is a stay at home mother and she has started to feel like she needs something a little.. more. Something for herself, to feel better about herself, to inspire and motivate her. And so she has decided to hire a personal trainer. She explained how this has left her feeling conflicted. On one hand she preaches and believes that our bodies are perfect just as they are, but on the other hand she would like to gain some fitness and strength and feel better about herself. Is this being hypocritical? Does it mean she doesn't love her body because she will be paying someone to help her take even better care of herself?

I have been thinking a lot about our conversation the past few days and I can lament with her conflicted feelings. I run, a lot some days, my neighbors see me running down the hill with a jogging stroller all the time. I drop off my girls in the triple jogger at preschool nearly every morning and pick them up in it again nearly every afternoon. I do not run to lose weight, or maintain my weight or even to gain more muscle. I don't run to change my body at all. I run because it makes me happy. That is it. I run for myself and to empower myself. I don't care if I look like a runner, because I know there is no such thing as the "runner's body." Just like my favorite children's book says, "It's okay to be skinny. It's okay to be big. It's okay to live in a tiny house. It's okay to wear two different socks..." Just because you run or ride your bike or hire a personal trainer to hold you accountable does not mean that you don't love your body. 

I spent years disliking my body. I never ran to lose weight. Running was always more than that for me. However, I did believe in "race weight" and the simple mathematics of power to weight ratio and so forth. I am not a professional and the slight differences in performance times are not worth the obsession. Nor is it healthy for me. I have an obsessive, addictive personality and I am old enough to know that I have to be careful before looking down the rabbit's hole. I may slip. I don't want to slip and more than that, I want to teach my children to love their bodies. We teach best by example.

My daughters have two very different body types. They are 19 months apart and less than 1 lb apart in weight. They like that. They don't know what weight means nor do they care. I hope they never do. They love to take turns hopping on the scale and seeing what number magically appears. My oldest is petite and may always be. My second daughter is tall like her dad and always has been. She loves food, all food, and I love that about her. Her favorite is olives. She'll devour a bowl of short ribs, chew her way through a plate of mussels and never turn down a taste of my dinner. My daughters both have strong -- but very different -- bodies. We don't tell them that. Anyway, they know that different is good.

Isaac, proudly eating his peas and broccoli.

Younger brother loves his food, too.

I believe that putting labels on our children is harmful. We become what we are taught, what we are told. If children are told they are beautiful, they are strong, they are hard-working, they will become beautiful and strong and hard-working. If we put labels on our kids and tell them they are tiny or big or skinny or fat, they will live by these. As a kid, I was always the skinny one. I knew that and eventually that became my identity. Obviously a lot of other factors were there as well, but as a self-conscious teenager I let that label control me. Then, I had to be "the skinny one." I was that girl who had to be the skinniest one in the room. It is hard to admit it, but that was me. I pray that will never be my daughters. I want them to be confident inside and out and love their bodies and know that they are strong, fit and capable.

I would like to share this article I read a few weeks ago. It is beautifully written, so true and I think about it often.

How to talk to your daughter about her body
by Sarah Koppelkam

How to talk to your daughter about her body, step one: Don't talk to your daughter about her body, except to teach her how it works.
Don't say anything if she's lost weight. Don't say anything if she's gained weight.
If you think your daughter's body looks amazing, don't say that. Here are some things you can say instead:
"You look so healthy!" is a great one.
Or how about, "You're looking so strong."
"I can see how happy you are -- you're glowing."
Better yet, compliment her on something that has nothing to do with her body.
Don't comment on other women's bodies either. Nope. Not a single comment, not a nice one or a mean one.
Teach her about kindness towards others, but also kindness towards yourself.
Don't you dare talk about how much you hate your body in front of your daughter, or talk about your new diet. In fact, don't go on a diet in front of your daughter. Buy healthy food. Cook healthy meals. But don't say, "I'm not eating carbs right now." Your daughter should never think that carbs are evil, because shame over what you eat only leads to shame about yourself.
Encourage your daughter to run because it makes her feel less stressed. Encourage your daughter to climb mountains because there is nowhere better to explore your spirituality than the peak of the universe. Encourage your daughter to surf, or rock climb, or mountain bike because it scares her and that's a good thing sometimes.
Help your daughter love soccer or rowing or hockey because sports make her a better leader and a more confident woman. Explain that no matter how old you get, you'll never stop needing good teamwork. Never make her play a sport she isn't absolutely in love with.
Prove to your daughter that women don't need men to move their furniture.
Teach your daughter how to cook kale.
Teach your daughter how to bake chocolate cake made with six sticks of butter.
Pass on your own mom's recipe for Christmas morning coffee cake. Pass on your love of being outside.
Maybe you and your daughter both have thick thighs or wide ribcages. It's easy to hate these non-size zero body parts. Don't. Tell your daughter that with her legs she can run a marathon if she wants to, and her ribcage is nothing but a carrying case for strong lungs. She can scream and she can sing and she can lift up the world, if she wants.
Remind your daughter that the best thing she can do with her body is to use it to mobilize her beautiful soul.
This post originally appeared on hopeave.wordpress.com.

Also on HuffPost:

Tell your daughter that she can run a marathon if she wants to... I love that. Treat yourself and your kids with respect. Love yourself and all those around you. Have a great weekend!

Happy kids here.

Fear of Failure

Ask yourself this one ever important question...

On Saturday morning Cesia mounted a 30-ft ladder to reach the top of a jumpy-castle slide. Slipping and struggling, it took her nearly 30 minutes to ascend all the way up, but she did it. Then she did it again another five times. This morning she rode her tricycle around in circles on our back patio as fast as her little legs could take her. Taking the turns a tad too tightly, she tipped over three times, fell on her side, got right back up and peeled out for another lap.

Last week Isaac crawled on all fours over to our locked baby gate, reached his little arms up as high as he could and muscled himself up to a stand. He turned around, looked at me as proud as could be, seemingly saying, "I did it. Look at me, Mama, I did it!"

Adara excitedly rushed over to cheer on baby brother.

Last weekend at the Zoo, Adara did the monkey bars by herself for the first time. She had been talking about it and finally did it. Alan stood under her, arms ready for support in case she needed it, but she didn't. Brave and tall, she mounted the bars and jumped off safely into daddy's arms at the other side.

Watching my kids learn new skills, some big and some little, reminds me how powerful we can be when we are not afraid to fail. Isaac had never stood before. EVER. As he crawled over to that black gate he was not thinking, "What if I can't do this." He was not afraid to fail. He simply reached up and tried. Cesia had surely never climbed such a high ladder in her life. Yet she had a goal in mind: Reaching the top of that slide so that she could experience the pure thrill of plummeting down the other side. Adara had never done monkey bars before, but she decided she was ready and she did it. They were not afraid of failing or falling. And when they do fall, they get right back up and do it again and again and again.

As a parent, I try my best to encourage my children to seek adventure, try new challenges, be daring. They don't know what it means to fail nor should they. They do know how it feels to climb high, run fast, fall hard on their knees, skin their elbows and do it all again. I hold my tongue (as much as possible) when I spot them dangling from the fireman's pole at the park, half-way up yet still in control. That is how kids learn. They learn best by making mistakes, by slipping and saving themselves, by playing. Nearly everyday a new article is published in the New York Times or Huffington Post or various other news source on the importance of play. But it is not just kids. We all learn from play and we have a lot to learn from our kids.

When kids run, they move with abandon. They run wild and free, without the slightest thought of how far or fast they are going or will go. They just run, with smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts. Our ancient ancestors and the Tarahumara Indians in Mexico still run this way. Running is a means of survival and livelihood. They run far and fast, covering many miles every day. It is my dream to be able to run this way.

This morning, I ran free. On the agenda was mile repeats. 3 x 1 mile at 7:15/mile pace. Mile repeats terrify me. They were the cornerstone of my training back in HS and college. They freaked me out and left a bitter taste. Intervals of shorter lengths were no problem as they were just that - short. Longer distances weren't so bad either because you could go slower. But running three separate miles near the speed of your single mile PR is downright painful. Back then I psyched myself out every single time, long before the actual workout started. I was afraid to fail. I had this "goal-time" either in my head or written on paper by my coach. This number stared me down like the biggest, baddest bully and I could never stand up to it. I'm not quite sure where this fear came from. Maybe it was the need to impress my coaches or keep up with my faster teammates or prove to myself that I was fast. Whatever it was got the best of me and for years I lived in fear of mile repeats.

This morning, though, I was not afraid. The notion of being afraid of a workout doesn't even get in my head anymore. When I run, I envision my girls - carefree and wild. I run with gratitude that I get to be out there, pushing a kid (or three!) and challenging myself. I went alone with just Isaac today after dropping the girls off at preschool. Once again he sat there for the entire 60-minute workout, smiling and babbling to himself. I will never know what he thinks of on these long runs alone with me, but I like to think that he is just enjoying watching the world and feeling the wind blow gently on his face. The warm-up brought us down to a flat, wide-street. I hit my watch and was off, ready to conquer some mile repeats and have fun while doing it. The first one felt shockingly smooth at 6:15. A 400m jog and on to the 2nd - slightly uphill in 6:42. I wondered if I should slow down. Really, my "pace" as determined by myself last month was supposed to be 7:15/mile. Choosing to run free and feeling strong, I decided I'd just go with it on the final mile. Not all out, but carefree and smooth. 6:12 and done.

Having us some fun.

I am only 8 months postpartum with Isaac. I have been running for maybe 4 months now and training for 1. Surely I was in better physical shape during my HS or college running days when I trained 60-70 miles/week. (Last week I hit my biggest week in years at 32 miles.) Yet, I am fairly certain I have never run three mile repeats at that speed and felt that good doing it. And I definitely never ran mile repeats with a stroller before! Yes, training with a triple kicks your butt into gear fast. The difference, though, is all in my head.

In 2003, California XC star Amber Trotter was breaking records all across the country and won the National HS Footlocker XC Championships. She chose to go to distance-running powerhouse Middlebury College. But, she would not run there. "I don't want to be anyone's race horse," she stated. I remember reading that and understanding. Running when it's not for yourself, with all that pressure, is no fun and frankly, not worth it. I am no one's race horse and I have no failure to fear. Honestly, if I had completed today's miles in 8:15/mile each, I would have been happy, because that just meant that was my pace. That's all it is. Nothing to fear out there.

Cesia, running the streets tonight.

Running Excuses

Lately, I have been coming up with loads of excuses to run.

Excuse #1: Fall has arrived in LA. In Southern California we await Fall like Mid-Westerns and East Coasters anxiously await Spring after a long, blistery winter. Our Summers are scorchers. I happen to live in the absolute hottest town in LA. Woodland Hills has the highest temperatures of the Valley and it is not uncommon for us to have an entire month of three digit temps from May - September. So when we get that first 60 degree morning, we clothe ourselves in our finest wools and bundle the kids up with winter jackets and hats. Our finest Patagonia items came out yesterday.

Cesia, going for a morning bike ride!

Adara and I cuddled up staying warm on this chilly September morning.

The cool breeze called us outside and we responded with "ghost pancakes"

(see the eyes and yogurt mouth?) out in the yard.

Cesia enjoying seconds.

Fall begs you to run. I can't think of a single runner I know who's favorite season is not Fall. It's cross country season. The changing of the leaves. The crunching on those beautiful orange and crispy yellow ones that have been abandoned by their trees in preparation of the winter to come. Runners immortalize Fall. Yes, the temperatures did reach 90 by mid-afternoon yesterday here in Woodland Hills, but the promise of mid-60 mornings gets me pumped up to hit the trails. Oh, and when the afternoons are still in the low 70's - like right now - I may just have to take the kids for a "nap-run." Just because we can.

Excuse #2: Naps. Cesia is back to needing naps. The girl wakes at the crack of dawn and runs. Runs and hops and jumps and gallops (yes, she recently learned to gallop and it's freaking hilarious!) all day. Then she gets especially chatty and speaks faster than her tongue can keep up and tackles Adara and jumps on Adara and pulls Adara's hair and drives us all crazy until I strap her in the stroller. Five minutes down the street and she is asleep. Peaceful, quiet and cute. Sweet little Cesia.

Asleep on Mon after our run home from school.

Asleep on Wed after our run home from school.

 

And asleep on Fri after our run.

 

 

 Excuse #3. Isaac is happy in the stroller. Poor baby is still sick from croup after a full week of it now. He's crabby, in pain and more miserable than ever. But he's happy in the stroller. Sometimes I feel guilty strapping the kids and especially Isaac in the stroller for extended periods of time. He's developing so quickly and needs plenty of floor time to practice his new skills like crawling, pulling up to stand with the aide of furniture and all those other cool 8-month old baby tricks. Being sick this past week, though, he has no desire to move or be on the floor. If we are at home he's in my arms or strapped in the Ergo just so that I have free hands to cook, clean, eat, or wipe bottoms like we glorious stay at home moms get to do. He has been content sitting in the stroller. Comfortable, relaxed, rested, he will sit for hours this week in there, nodding off when he gets tired or simply enjoying the scenery and his sister's voices while he's awake.

 

What are your running excuses? Find them and hit the trails. Crunch some leaves, enjoy Fall and have a great weekend! Isaac and I may just go for a 9-mile trail adventure tomorrow morning. He is slowly regaining energy but I have a feeling that he'll enjoy the extra relaxation a long run always brings.

 

 

 

 

 

Malibu Nights

Last night, I raced. First race in 8 years: Complete. Cobwebs dusted, race number collection initiated. Adara is very into numbers lately so she excitedly asked me to take off my "7" and give it to her after the race last night.

Lucky number 7!

As I mentioned in a previous post, I did run a local trail half-marathon last June, but I discovered a baby was busy growing within me just before so it didn't really count as a "race." I ran that 1/2 marathon easy, chatting the whole way and just enjoying the camaraderie of trotting along with other trail-lovers. But last night, I finally did it. I raced. I hadn't made mention of it before because it wasn't planned. As I am realizing, the best things in life happen that way.. unplanned, spontaneous events that turn into the best surprises and ultimate blessings. I had a blast and met some other cool local runners, like a mom with 4 kids between the ages of 5 years and 4 months. I asked her if she raced the first trail run of the series last week. She said "No" and then turned to her husband to ask, "Honey, why didn't I race last week?" He responded: "Because you didn't sleep the night before." "Oh yeah," she shrugged. That's how it goes when you have these babies.

A new running shoe store opened in our neighborhood last weekend, I somehow fell upon ads for it online, which led me to postings for the Conejo Valley Trail Runners Club. A lover of running groups, I joined. Then I remembered that I don't live in Conejo Valley, all my runs are last minute go-with-the-flow, who needs a nap, I need to get outside right now, runs. As a stay at home mom of two toddlers and a baby and a husband who works his butt off I don't have much flexibility to attend running groups. Oh, and Isaac still nurses on demand and hasn't been eating any solids since getting croup over a week ago, so really I can't leave him. Trail running is not suited for a triple stroller and so in reality I can't attend running groups.

Maybe in a few months or years. I remain hopeful. Running with others is fun and inspiring. But for now my running partners are 4, 2.5 and 8 months and require me to push them rather than push me to faster times. Anyway, I joined this running group online and then discovered that the organizer was hosting a race series called: Malibu Nights. Every Thursday evening at 5:30pm for 8 weeks there is a 5K trail race on a very secluded single track at Camp Mt. Crags (never even knew it existed!) in Malibu. AND, get this, they even have activities and babysitting provided by a local YMCA for kiddos! For FREE. You get to run a race in a gorgeous section of Malibu. Okay, really what area of Malibu isn't gorgeous? Your kids get to play and run around while you are away for 20-some minutes AND there's an organic, grilled cheese truck for them to eat dinner afterwards. Perfect, I thought.

Then I remembered that I never leave Isaac and I am definitely not ready to leave him with some random teenagers so I had to convince Alan to leave work early and meet us there. Alan works hard and loves his job. He's busy and busts his bottom to get in by 7am and back home by 6:30pm for bedtime every night. Leaving work early mid-week for me to do a little race might be pushing it. Then I looked up the exact location and realized it was less than a 10 minute drive from his lab. He passes this place every single day on his scenic drive home from work. Really, the race was begging me to run it. I brought it up to Alan and he was in! (By the way, he's up for Father-of-the-Year award soon, if you haven't heard). : )

Hanging out on the sidelines.

Straight from Thursday afternoon gymnastics we loaded into the minivan and made our way through the mountains to Camp Mt. Crags. The girls had been looking forward to it all week with the promise of an obstacle course and a grilled cheese food truck (I'm careful to encourage them to eat well-balanced, try anything and I don't keep them to a strict vegan diet, though unbeknownst to them we mostly adhere to that at home). As we pulled into the parking lot I knew it was going to be a good night: there were swings and 2 playgrounds! The girls spent the next 5 minutes anxiously debating which playground to check out first. Oh, and there were also 2 deer blocking our way. We had to slow to about 1mph to allow the friendly foes to casually stroll into the grass and out of our parking space. They were in no hurry and I loved that. These deer set the stage for the evening -- totally chill, laid-back and friendly.

Next up was registration, bathroom breaks for the three ladies and one last minute nap for the little prince tucked away in my ergo. Now we were waiting for daddy to arrive. Walking around with my race number and three littles in tow, more than one person stopped with raised eyebrows to ask exactly how I was going to race with a baby asleep on my chest and two girls glued to my legs. My husband will be here any minute to take over, I assured them. And he was. The girls saw daddy's fast little burnt-orange car pull into the lot and they were off. Shrieks and laughter ensued as they filled him in about 2 playgrounds, swings, an obstacle course and the deer we spotted! There was much fun to be had. Fifteen minutes before start time and Isaac was awakening. I lied him down on our picnic blanket beside Alan and dashed off for a quick 5 minute warm-up. Isaac was all smiles giddy to be out in the fresh air on a beautiful nearly-Fall night in Malibu.

Showing off that shiny new top tooth!

Following one last wave and smile to the girls and an overly complicated course description, the horn blasted. We were off! Two guys in front and me trying to stay close enough to the nearest runner so as not to get lost. I am notoriously bad at directions and have gotten lost in more than a few races in the past. I kept the second guy in sight for as long as possible and at the first turn-around spotted a woman about 50 meters back in fourth place. There were probably 30 runners in total. Trail runners tend to be rare and races small. Just my style. I have never been one for crowds and I prefer for races to be won on hidden corners of desolate trails rather than in front of massive street-lined fans. That's how races are really won anyway, aren't they? I have always believed races are won during workouts, during those quiet solitary moments when everyone else is asleep and you are out there alone. Working hard.

I didn't have any race plan. Having signed up last minute and unsure of whether Alan would be able to get off work and watch the kids for me, I had run 8 miles with the triple the previous day. And really I was just squeezing this race into my 10K training plan which was coming up in November. However, it would be fun to win, I thought. I'm competitive. Did I mention this? So once I spotted that lady in 4th place trailing not far behind, I planned to win (for the females). Running without my watch and with no mile markers or knowledge of the trail, I just ran. Ran hard, kept that 2nd place guy within my sights and had some fun kicking up dirt. I did miss one turn but was alerted after about 10 seconds, turned around and was now right beside the other lady. Shoot, I thought. What a lousy way to lose, by missing an unmarked turn. This was a small, friendly race and I didn't want to be rude, so I ran beside her for a few seconds and then surged to put in some distance again. After this, I believe she gave up. She didn't even respond, didn't try to stay with me and remained about 20-30 seconds back for the final mile of the race. I kept on pushing, enjoying the new single-track under my feet and motivated by Isaac's little smile at the finish line. I just want to finish as soon as possible to get back to my little baby, I thought. Finishing third overall and the first female across the line was an extra bonus. I told Adara afterwards that I "won for the girls." She looked at me and said, "No, a man won. So really you didn't win." Tough critic. She made me laugh, and then took my race number.

Reset Run

It is 2pm on a Sunday afternoon. The mercury is hovering right above 100 degrees. You are at home alone with three crabby kids. What to do?

a. Go pool-hopping around your neighborhood.
b. Sit at home watching time melt away.
c. Go for a run.

Today, we chose c. and it transformed our day. Three ice-cold water bottles, three whiny kids and one desperate mama headed out the door and hit the streets. Within minutes Cesia was out. Adara followed suit soon after and Isaac just did what Isaac does -- sat there silently for the next hour enjoying the ride. Six miles and two empty bottles later (it was so hot I drank both mine and Adara's) and we were back home, both girls slowly waking from their slumber as I pushed the triple up the final hill.

What a difference a run can make for all of us. I was blessed with one hour of quiet bliss. The girls both got in good naps and awoke refreshed and ready for a fun afternoon. Isaac was calm and relaxed, still recovering from his bout of croup. It was a "Reset Run." Not fast, not timed, no agenda. Just running until it feels good to stop. Running until everyone is in a new place, at peace and ready to move forward positively with the day.

The streets were quiet, seemingly everyone in their right mind was hibernating inside, staying cool during this mid-September heat-wave. While running along empty streets, with a breeze gentle enough to cool my hot sleepy kids, I was reminded of my afternoon runs with the girls pre-Isaac. I loved those runs. Those are what transformed me back into a runner. Adara was just over 2 and a half and cutting out her naps, but so desperately needed them to get through the days. Cesia was nearing 1 and fighting her afternoon nap, so one day I strapped them in the double Chariot and just ran. Within minutes, they were out. Wow, that was easy, I thought. The next day came and so did the afternoon protests so I thought I'd try it again. Same thing, minutes down the road and they were asleep. So I ran. Every afternoon I ran, pushing two sleeping toddlers miles and miles while they slept away the afternoon. If I stopped, they woke up. So on I ran. There is nothing like the promise of a sleeping child to motivate you to keep on running.

Adara and Raggedy Andy on a run. May 2010.

It didn't feel good at first. In fact, it felt awful. Running is cathartic. Returning to running after some time off (in my case, my second pregnancy) is painful. It is slow, it hurts, your lungs burn, legs beg you to stop. You feel heavy, legs lift like leaden pipes trying to make it up even the slightest hill. It continues like that for some time. Days, weeks, possibly even months pass as you slog along, pulling your body through the streets, begging your muscles to move forward in hopes that soon it will get easier. Then it does. Overnight, like magic. One day you go out and suddenly you're just running. No more slogging, no more pulling. You don't even notice the transformation but inside you can feel a magical metamorphosis has taken place. You float effortlessly up and over the hills. You are a runner again.

Our very first double stroller run. November 2011.

I feared this process of becoming a runner again when I discovered I was pregnant for the third time in as many years. I had finally just gotten back into shape. I had paid my dues, I survived those weeks of painful transformation, running through the streets at a walking-pace. In fact, I remember feeling a bit faster until Alan joined me for a run and was literally walking beside my uphill running pace. His long legs keeping up with me stride by stride as I panted for air like an overheating dog on a summer afternoon. And now I was pregnant again and would have to re-start the whole process over in 9 months.

I had an even bigger fear, though. I was terrified that I could never again run with my kids.. all together. I loved those quiet afternoons alone on the trail with Adara and Cesia peacefully sleeping in front of me while I simply ran. I will never forget those memories, the many miles we covered together. Adding a third child would change all that. Physically, they could no longer all fit in the Chariot. I never seriously considered a triple jogger. As previously mentioned, it seemed ridiculous -- too big, too heavy, too expensive, too little storage in our already over-crowded garage.

This Sunday marked 8 months for Isaac. The passing of time has been unbelievable. I can honestly say I have enjoyed every single day with my precious little prince. I have not wasted the days, I have treasured each and every moment. He is our last baby and I will not look back and wonder where the time went, or beg to re-live this first magical year of a child's life. So as we ran on Sunday, I was filled with nostalgia and gratitude. Thankful for my three healthy babies, my ability to run with them, my triple stroller for making that possible and the many miles we will cover together in the years to come. Much better than pool-hopping (though we may try that on a future weekend)!

 

Before Sunday's "Reset Run."

On Fire

3x1200m complete. Except the last repeat was going so well that I decided to extend it into 1600m and go for a new single-stroller mile PR. Sometimes when you're on a roll you might as well just go for it. My goal pace was about 5:30/1200m. Feeling rested and ready after taking yesterday completely off and sleeping in until 8am this morning (thanks to Alan for getting up with the girls and letting Isaac and me get some much needed rest!), I hit the first 1200m in 5:00, the second (slightly uphill) in 5:15 and the final 1600m in 6:05. I think that must be the fastest mile I've run in 8 years. Not bad. Now I'm tired and only have a few minutes to write before the girls will be home from their day out at the L.A. Zoo with Alan, but a few thoughts from today's run:

1. Running fast and reaching your goal times feels good. I feel high right now.. on endorphins, life and the love of running with Isaac. He's the perfect little partner. Sits quietly, looks around and just enjoys the ride, even when he's sick and in pain from this nasty bout of croup. Sometimes I wonder what he's thinking about while sitting there silently for an hour...

2. I was on fire today. Literally, my feet were on fire. Does anyone else have this problem when running in Vibram five fingers? It's a long story which I will save for another time, but I switched to minimalist barefoot-style running shoes 4 years ago when returning to running after Adara's birth. I wish I could go completely barefoot, but my feet just aren't that tough and I run on a lot of trails and unpaved, rocky roads. I tried homemade huaraches on and off for a few years. I love the idea and look of them, but just couldn't make them work. I've read of ultra-marathoners competing in them but I could never get the tying right and they always felt either too loose or too tight and I got sick of having to stop 20x/run to adjust the lacing. When you stop during a stroller run, the kids think you're done, they don't want to continue another 30 min, and so I ultimately switched to Vibram five fingers. They changed my form completely, I'm now a forefoot striker, haven't had any shin or foot pain (knock on wood) and absolutely love the barefoot, light and free feel of them. However, when running in the heat with them the soles of my feet feel like they are on fire. Today's run was close to 100 degrees and my feet burned so badly I had to run on the sidewalk for my 400m recoveries between intervals. During the intervals I guess I was distracted, other types of pain took over and I felt okay on the black-top, but man, running home on 100 degree pavement was not comfortable. I'm not sure what else you can do when running in Vibrams in the heat, but if anyone has any suggestions please share! Also, I keep getting holes in the toes of my soles after just a few months. Is this normal? I had hoped they'd last longer and they are supposedly made with the express purpose of teaching one to land on the ball of their foot and engage their toes more, yet I keep burning toe holes after just a couple hundred miles of use. I haven't even come close to wearing out the heels on them, causing me to rethink what type of foot-striker they were really made for..

3. Neighbors are awesome! My neighbor and friend, Megan, unknowingly helped me complete my fastest mile in 8 years today. I'm convinced she must have known my schedule and route as she showed up at just the right time. During the "almost-half-way-done" phase of today's workout, Megan drove past me on Alhama, surely with her two toddlers in tow and waved happily. Suffering, I can't remember if I even waved back or mustered a smile but her presence helped. Like a spy planted there to hold me accountable, she passed me twice in her Toyota during the workout today, keeping me honest and on pace. When you're out there alone completing a tough workout, sometimes it helps to just have a friend surprisingly show up at exactly the right time. Thanks, Megan!

4. I want a Bob. In line with #3 on awesome neighbors.. my other incredible neighbors down the hill let me borrow their single Bob running stroller today. Alan took the girls to the Zoo and Ikea, giving me a nice break and the entire day alone with Isaac. He had to use my car and double stroller to get to the far parts of this particularly hilly zoo, leaving me alone with just the triple. I didn't want to do 1200m fast repeats with a triple stroller and only 1 baby -- that's just crazy, even for me -- so Emily and Spencer let me borrow their single Bob. I had never run with a Bob before. Man, was it nice! Now I understand why Bob is synonymous with running stroller. Incredibly fast and smooth, honestly the difference running alone vs. with a single Bob felt negligible. The only problem is.. now I want one. : )

Off for a fun Saturday afternoon of playtime with my favorite three little kids! Have a great weekend, watch some football and Go Bears!

Glory Days

No running post to write tonight. Today's intervals never happened. They sit on the back burner while I tend to my sick littlest one.

Isaac and I spent last night in the Emergency Room. He is okay, has croup, barking like a seal, body writhing in pain with each cough, new top tooth broken half-way through the gums on top of that, but he is okay.

Alan and I went for an amazing Thursday night bike ride last night, under a pink sunset which gave way to a moonlit sky. Good conversation, fast descents and empty trails made for the perfect evening spent together outdoors. Back home and babysitter paid, we ate a giant chopped salad I had prepped earlier in the day and some flatbread a la Trader Joe's. A half-glass of wine and I was toast, quietly falling asleep on the couch as Alan watched a show. Then we heard a bark. "Just the neighbor's dog," Alan commented. But I knew it wasn't. Tonight it was coming from Isaac's room and instantly I knew he had croup. I knew the night ahead was going to be long, most likely involving a trip to the ER and steroid shots.

For the next five hours, I did everything I could to keep Isaac home and asleep. Exhausted myself, I kept thinking if we could both just get some rest and make it through the night we would be okay. His breathing was so labored, short, whistling breaths followed by piercing barking coughs. We spent 10-11pm on the couch, 11-12 out in the yard trying to breathe in some cool night air (often the best home remedy for croup), 12-1 in his crib (yes, I climbed in with him, desperate for some sleep), 1-2 back on the couch, 2-3 walking around the house with Isaac's 18-lb body cradled in my arms like a newborn, deciding our next move. Nothing was helping and I knew he needed some relief. By this time Alan was also awake on the couch, per usual, working away on his laptop in the dark. He wished us luck, told me to text him with updates and drink some coffee if I needed it.

I had never taken any of our kids to the ER alone before. Once, Alan and I went together when Adara was about 18 months old and had her first bout of croup. All the other emergencies were handled solo by Alan. He is my caretaker in the face of danger, the calm against the storm. I get nervous, my heart breaks watching my children in pain and I melt. So I typically stay back, guarding the home front and ready to give extra cuddles and snuggles to my sicklings when they arrive back to me safely. Tonight there was no choice, I had to go alone with Isaac. He needs me, my milk, it was 3am and Alan had to stay home with the sleeping girls.

As I lied there in the hospital bed in the early hours of the morning, in between sleep, with Isaac milk-drunk in my arms, it suddenly occurred to me that these are the happiest days of my life. Sure, Alan and I had our glory days of five hour bike rides followed by a burrito and nap. Back then our biggest decision of the weekend was whether to take a shower before walking the 1 block to Baja Fresh or shower and then buy the burrito. This was a big dilemma you see, as exhaustion was sure to hit you full force the second you consumed your final bite of the burrito, and if you hadn't yet showered, then you had one more roadblock in front of you before your head could touch the pillow.

Sometimes I still miss those days like crazy. I remember the feeling of legs burning, lactic acid slowly seeping into the quads and then sleep overtaking me on a Saturday afternoon. Things are different now. Very different. I don't get to nap, I don't have the freedom to ride my bike (I don't even get 5 seconds of alone time in the bathroom now), but I can't help but think they are even better.

These are the real glory days, I realize. These are the days that challenge me to no end (Cesia is full on in the terrible 2's right now, Adara never stops talking and just annoys the heck out of me by 4pm, and Isaac lives in my arms these days with teething pain and separation anxiety causing him to need a comfortable spot on my right hip), but, yes, these are the glory days. I'm young, I get to play 24 hrs a day. I don't have to work outside of the home (thank you, Alan!), I get to run, hike, explore with the kids and spend entire days outdoors. I get to walk the girls to school every day with Isaac snug and fast asleep in the carrier pressed against my heart. I remember seeing women and men walking solo through the mall a few months ago while I struggled to corral Cesia from the carousel and get to the car with 3 kids before any further melt-downs ensued. Looking at these lone soles, I realized that this will soon be me. Soon I won't have 3 kids to chase around, to drive me crazy, to clean up after. Soon they'll be grown, on their own and I'll have all the time in the world to myself. Now, those are the days I'm beginning to fear. And so I stare at Isaac for another 30 minutes, begging my hippocampus to store these memories for as long as I shall live. I never want to forget the weight of his little head against my forearm, his sweaty milk-spilled over scent I get to inhale at 4am, his little eyes flickering quickly taking him through another REM cycle. These are the days I love, I cherish and I need.

Isaac, peacefully asleep. Hoping tonight will be more restful than the last.

Adara, focused on her art work.

 Cesia and her devious smile.

Hot Pants

Today, the hot pants came out. After years of hiding in the back of my athletic clothing drawer, they made an appearance. Mental mountains were growing in my mind since 5am this morning. My schedule called for a 4 mile tempo run. Last week's tempo run beat me up - mentally and physically. Prior to that run I was feeling fast, fit and simply loving running. No run is a bad run, I had thought. Just the joy of being out there, with my kids, healthy and able, was awesome. Then came last Wednesday's tempo run where afterwards I wrote about grilled cheese, fried eggs, failing to hit my goal pace and all that other stuff. I am over it, all my other workouts since then have replaced the bad memories, but the pain lives on.

I didn't wake up nervous about being able to reach my goal pace. Yes, I still hoped to complete the 4 miles in 30 minutes per my schedule's dictation, but that was not the root cause of my stomach churning.

Let me pause for a second to say this: I run for fun. Challenging, painful tempo runs are fun. Nerve-wracking, but still fun. I've had enough years of being obsessed with times, goals, PR's, paces and putting those things before everything else. For me, high school and college cross country running were my life. I took it far too seriously, had far too little enjoyment and treated it like my job. Looking back, it is all absolutely ridiculous. I was just a kid. Why didn't I just have fun? Loading into a 15-passenger van, being driven to go run 90 minutes on beautiful uncharted trails with my best friends sounds like an absolute dream now. What I wouldn't give to go back and relive those days to their fullest.. to enjoy them this time around, to live, to laugh, to stop caring that I finished behind a few faster teammates. I always had to be better, to be faster. It was rare that I completed a race feeling happy with my time or performance. I can remember that occurrence maybe twice. EVER. In 7 years of running. That breaks my heart. I know that I can not return to those days but I also want to make sure other young (or new) runners don't waste their years obsessing over such non-sense. Yes, try your best, run fast, break records, set new PR's, have goals, never give up, but have fun. For crying out loud, just have some fun. Trust me, in 10 years no one is going to remember that you ran your 4 mile tempo run at 7:50 pace rather than 7:43 pace. Or that you finished 6th rather than 5th and got a different color medal. In the end, no one really cares.

So it was not the actual run that had my butterflies jetting in circles, rather it was the awareness of the pain that was going to ensue on the run. The knowledge of what I was about to put my body through. At 5am, I reminded myself again that I am a mother, my job right now is to be the best I can for my kids. I am not going running right now, so I'll think about the workout later. And then we made some of the most delicious chocolate vegan cupcakes! At 6am. And then we ate them. Yes, at 6am. For breakfast. We did also eat oatmeal and strawberries, and the cupcakes were mini-sized. (I'll write more about our vegan baking/eating adventures in a future blog post. I have been thinking about it, but haven't quite put all the pieces together in my mind for that post yet.)

Cupcakes eaten, teeth brushed, clothes thrown on and we were out the door for preschool drop-off. We drove today to get Isaac home in time for his morning nap. Back home, nursed and peacefully asleep, I used my 45 min "break" to speed-fold laundry, start a new load, read through nursery school board emails and chart out a few possible 4-mile loops on MapMyRun. I was hesitant to repeat last Wednesday and so I wanted to check out other courses in the neighborhood. It had to be not-too-boring, pretty, wide enough streets to be safe running with Isaac in the Chariot, few cars and not crazy hilly. Before I knew it, Isaac was moaning and sitting up in bed. I scooped him up, loaded him in the newly inflated tire Chariot (PSI was down to 10! Oops, supposed to be at 40) and ran up towards Mulholland. I still hadn't decided on a route and the mountains always call me upwards. So up I went, until we reached the top. Category 5-climb warm-up complete, and I swerved the Chariot to the right, skipping our gorgeous trail route to make our way towards a less-steep, more paved 4 mile loop. We ran, fast, in my hot pants.

I still remember the day I bought my hot pants. They're red, short (2" inseam short), spandex Nike running shorts. A tall, fast, 30-something Russian lady was wearing the exact pair at the Chicago Niketown Running Club one Thursday evening, back when I was in High School. I think the year was 2001. I admired how they accentuated her long, toned running quads. After the run, I bought myself a pair... to be saved for fast days. They have mostly lived in the back of my drawer, in Chicago, in Claremont where I went to college, in Santa Monica post-college while at UCLA for grad school and now in Woodland Hills where I live with my family of five. I nearly gave them away to my sister a few times, considered tossing them in that Goodwill donation bag last year, but something has always made me hold on to them. Maybe it is the promise, or the hope of running fast again. Of competing. If you wear hot pants, you better be running fast.

What is fast? That's the beauty of it.. it's up to you to decide, it's personal. Whatever is fast for you, that is your fast. I wish I could have understood this 5 or 10 years ago, then I would have had a lot more fun running, I can tell you that. Now I honestly believe that fast can come in the form of 15 minute miles or 5 minute miles.

Today I needed a little extra motivation. It came in the form of red, Nike hot pants. To run fast, you have to feel fast. You have to believe you are fast. Conquering those mental mountains is always the toughest challenge. Feeling fast, Isaac and I ran those 4 miles to our hearts content, legs pumping, breathless and brave, we completed the loop in exactly 30 minutes. I didn't even know it until I came home and re-mapped out our route online. I was actually a bit surprised. I wasn't sure I could keep a 7:30/mile pace while pushing him. We conquered those mental mountains, baby. And then we (read: I) had another cupcake.

Run your own fast. Have fun. And eat cupcakes. That was our Wednesday.

Partaking in one of the best parts of vegan baking: eating the raw leftover batter!

Happy Wednesday! Get your own cupcake.

Rest days

We work hard. We play hard. Sometimes we must rest hard. Rest days are always the most difficult for me. I can bang out 800m repeats with three kids, I can complete an 8 miler on hilly trails after only 4 hours of sleep. Running energizes me, brings out the best in me and provides me with that endorphin boost I need to get through long, trying days with two toddlers and a baby. Rest days do nothing for me. Except, they do. Any book on training or physiology can explain to you the crucial benefits of rest days. In my heart, I know they are just as important as hard training days. The problem is that the benefits are not as obvious.

Today is a rest day. Sometimes I need to rely on my kids to remind me. Adara woke up sick yesterday morning. Crabby, incessant whining that drives you crazy as you drag her around all day (to Sunday School, out to lunch, walking around Culver City) until you realize that, "Oh poor kid, she has a 103.5 degree fever! No wonder she was so whiny. Man, she's tough. She should have complained even more!" That's how it always seems to go. Just 4 years old, she isn't quite able to understand her body well enough to come out and shout "Mama, I'm sick!" Instead it is more likely to be manifested with constant complaining, whining, dragging herself around. You would think I'd know it by know, being a mother for over 4 years you would think I could recognize the signs and not drag her around the city all day feeling frustrated when she can't quite keep up. I don't. I screw up, I make mistakes. We all do. Life goes on.

Isaac playing at our friends' place
in Culver City yesterday.

We push and push, run and run, until we simply can't. I have dealt with countless running injuries - nearly all from overuse. I am not good at resting. My college cross-country coach sarcastically nicknamed me "Lucky" as I seemed to possess extra luck, this extra special skill.. at injuring myself. Stress fractures, Achilles tendonitis, plantar fasciitis. I've had at all. For years I have known that I would be a better runner if I simply ran less. Perhaps if I loved it less. I love running, I get addicted, I push too hard and skip rest days. Now I have kids. I have three beautiful, lively children who rely on me. They need me to have energy, to stay healthy, to give them my time, attention, love and.. milk. Isaac still nurses every couple of hours and depends on my body for his own growth and development. I need to take care of myself so that I can take care of them. I can't end up on crutches or nurse a stress fracture. With others to think about, it is crucial that I stay safe and smart, take those rest days. Train hard and rest hard.

Sick days help remind me that we are all vulnerable. Adara is tough, pushes through the pain, she is resilient and cried all morning long that she wasn't sick and promised she was healthy enough to go to school. "I can't miss my job on the job chart, she whined. "I have a job." We all have jobs. But sometimes we all must take a rest day, skip those jobs and take care of our bodies.

Calm playtime. Isaac trying to chew off Mama doll's leg.

I push myself hard and have high expectation for both my kids and me. When they act lazy and whiny it gets me down. I want to raise them to be tough, strong and adventurous. But sometimes, we all need a lazy day. We dropped little sister Cesia off at school and ran straight home to the living room where we planted ourselves for the day. I fought the urge to go out seeking adventure. We did make one side-trip to Whole Foods but that was to restock our fruit supply and enjoy some lunch. Let's see if we can rest hard for the remainder of this Monday. Wish me luck.. I've already thought up about 20 excuses to go out for a run with the kids.

Superpowers of the Triple Stroller

Triple jogging strollers might as well come with a disclaimer. A little golden sheet that reads: "Thou who runs with this stroller will automatically be granted magic powers." These magic powers may not show up on your first run, nor in your first month with the stroller, but I guarantee that at some point they will show up.

Dorothy, over at http://www.mile-posts.com/, inspired me to jump in and buy a triple stroller. She talks about the magic of running while pushing three kids, of running a faster timed mile with the kids than solo. This morning I discovered that magic.

I meticulously planned out my training schedule with intervals on Fridays so that I could do them alone with Isaac while the girls were at school. Running for fun with the triple is great, but speedwork with three is a completely different issue. Or so I thought.

Alan had to set his alarm for 3:45am this morning to get into work for an 8am East Coast conference call. Crazy, right? Setting your alarm before 4am is not an early-morning wake-up. We are early risers, but that is not considered morning in my book. Without his extra hands to help this morning, I had to perform double-duty. Isaac woke up to nurse twice during the night, Adara woke around 1am with a nightmare (for the third time this week) and climbed in my bed to squirm for the next couple of hours and Cesia was up and ready to tackle the day (and anyone who got in her way) by 4:45am. My eyes and legs did not want to move. I was irritable, annoyed and frustrated that no one would just sleep. On top of that, Isaac's 2-3 hr naps have disappeared this week to be replaced with these little 20 min "rests." It seriously takes longer to get him to sleep (diaper change, read 1 book, nurse, you know, the whole sleep-time routine) than he actually stays asleep. After 1 hr of feeling sorry for myself + 1 cup of coffee, the sun finally started to rise and I knew I had to run. Running is my anti-anxiety, anti-irritability, ready-to-tackle-the-day-like-Cesia panacea.

By 7am Isaac was down for his first nap. Perfect, I thought, he'll wake right around 8:30, we'll run to school with the triple, drop off the girls, then I'll borrow my friend's single Bob that she was bringing to school for me and take Isaac for 800 meter repeats on a flat-ish road near the preschool. When you have kids, however, plans become just that - plans. The more you try to plan and schedule, the more disappointed you become. Somehow the kids never seem to get the memo. Of course, Isaac was awake by 7:20am (hello, cat nap) and my frustration was mounting. We just had to get out. NOW, or spontaneous combustion might occur. As quickly as possible, I got the girls cleaned up and dressed for school. Grabbed their packed lunches from the fridge, pulled Isaac from his crib and loaded all three safely into the triple. We were on our way by 8am and I was now going to do 5x800 meter repeats each at 3:37 (7:14/mi pace) while pushing all three. This was either going to break me, send me over the edge, or re-charge our day. Only time would tell.

On the mile and a half warm-up, Cesia dropped her stuffed Zebra twice, threw three fits about god-knows-what and complained that the sun was in her eyes no matter how I configured her shade. The cards did not appear to be in my favor.

We made it to our starting point, I explained to the girls that I really needed them to "cheer me on" so that we could run fast today, and with Cesia's "Get ready, get set, GO MAMA!" we were rolling. We hit that first 800m repeat in 3:15. And it felt good, really good! 400 m jog and we were on to the next one. 3:45, bang. The way out was slightly down-hill and way back slightly up-hill, explaining the 30 second difference. I would take it. The next three followed suit with 3:15, 3:45 and finishing with a 3:05. Adara cheered, "Go Mama, Go, Go Mama, Go" for nearly the entire length of the workout. Cesia stayed mostly quiet though she apparently dropped Zebra once more and a woman in a silver Lexus SUV slowed to ask if it was ours and graciously handed it back. Isaac was happy as a clam chewing on his stroller strap.

We did it! I thanked the girls for helping me get through a hard run and said, "That was fun!" to which Adara replied, "Yes, it was. It was fun, Mama!" Thus, I have experienced the superpowers of the triple stroller, the magical feeling of being able to accomplish anything when we are all together. If I could push this beast through the streets, fast (fast for me, at least), then surely I could get through this day. When we stop limiting ourselves, stop thinking about what we can not do, the superpowers take over and our incredible strength comes out. How powerful, strong and capable we are, when we quiet those voices in our heads and just.. run.

Have a great weekend, all! Definitely looking forward to some family time and 5am wake-ups with Alan at home, because together is always better.

Sorry, no pictures to show from today.. this mama was too tired post-run to have enough mental capacity to remember to take some photos!

Grilled cheese with a fried egg on top

Today, Mulholland ate us for lunch. A lunch of grilled cheese topped with a fried egg, not the meal this converted vegan can even feign to enjoy. The Wednesday morning special was a 3.5 mile tempo run at 7:24/mile, after a 10 minute warm-up and a 2 mile cool-down for dessert. The warm-up began as every other warm-up goes, except for the fact it isn't exactly a warm-up when you are pushing 50 lbs up a Category 5 hill (thanks to MapMyRun I now know the categories for all my hills). After we got that over with, Isaac and I were thrown into the fire -- quite literally with 90+ degree heat -- as I did my very best to hit that 7:24 pace for the next three and a half miles.

Before the run I charted out a few potential courses on MapMyRun.com. There was our typical route up Mulholland via Rosario road. Or we could head downhill towards Dumetz and run along Wells. The latter would provide smoothly paved, mostly flat, wide suburban roads with little traffic. The former was hilly, very hilly, bumpy, unpaved, mountainous trails. After a few minutes of mental debate, the beauty and solitude of the former pulled us uphill.

We hit the first tempo mile at 8:24, exactly 1 min off my targeted pace. However, I was pushing 50 lbs and the first mile was nearly all uphill and quite sandy (it has been another dry year). So maybe 8:24 under the circumstances wasn't that far from 7:24?? I have read that when running with a jogging stroller you should add 1 min/mile to your pace. Anyone know if this is actually true? Today, it was clearly going to be all about perceived effort. Oh, and it was hot up there. The mercury floated over 90 degrees F and there was no wind of which to speak. Isaac and I trucked along, trying my very best to maintain or increase our pace. My effort was immense.

This was no easy tempo run. When I looked at my training plan that morning, 3.5 miles tempo-pace didn't sound all that hard. Less than 30 min of pain, I thought, that will fly by. To say my expectations were challenged would be an understatement. Then I realized that perhaps if you want to reach your goals, you should set yourself up for the best possibility to reach them. I was not the smartest in setting myself up today. I had waited until too late in the day. I should have gone earlier, but I wanted to wait until after preschool drop-off so that I could push just 1 child and not 3 for 3+ hard miles. By the time I got them off, Isaac was ready for his morning nap. This pushed us back another hour and a half, and by the time he woke and we were out the door it was nearly 11am. The heat had risen a good 15 degrees and it was scorching (don't worry, Isaac is fully covered under a sun shade, isn't exerting himself and stays as cool as possible in a thin little onesie). Perhaps tempo runs are best run solo. I should have just waited until tonight to complete my workout, after the kids were asleep and Alan was home to hold down the fort, I thought. I had considered this, but Alan and I already get so little time together during the week as it is so if I can run during the day, even if it is with all 3 kids, I try to squeeze it in. Plus, he often likes to run at night as that is his only opportunity.

Mid-workout is not the best time to make up excuses and now I was 13 minutes in, on an out-and-back course and I had to get back home. I so badly wanted to slow my pace, but that would only leave us out on the trail longer. I knew Isaac was likely getting hungry and hot, and I just wanted to be back home. Running fast was our best option. I stopped obsessively glancing at the elapsed time on my watch and just ran, fast, or as fast as I could today. Yes, this run was all about perceived effort, baby. I am sure I didn't reach the next 2.5 miles at 7:24 pace, but it sure as heck felt like it. I also decided today that I most likely won't race the Calabasas Classic 10K with a stroller. Stroller running is hard. It is supposed to be hard, and I like the challenge, but sometimes it also just feels good to run fast and hit those targeted times. Today, we got cooked.

Post-run. Cooked. Overdone.

All smiles. Handled the heat like a champ

and kept me going with his happy babbling.

Speedwork by starlight

Every Thursday night we have a sitter come. Rebecca shows up at 7:00pm, knocks softly, I hand her the baby monitor and list of emergency contacts and Alan and I tip-toe out the door and escape into the mountains on our bikes. Alone and together on the trail, we reconnect. Cycling brought us together and brings us back every time. For 90 minutes we have uninterrupted, deep and meaningful conversations. The promise of Thursday nights gets me through the week.

 

Riding through Northern Spain on our Honeymoon, 2007.

Just another amazing honeymoon bike ride.

Moots and Mountains - Alan's loves.

Soaked and spent after getting caught in a nasty rainstorm mid-60 mile ride.

 

Picnic break in Park Guell, Barcelona, 2007.

With Alan at Cambridge last week and me feeling particularly exhausted after a week home alone with the three kids, I debated many times canceling Rebecca last Thursday. "I've been up since 3am," I told myself, "I don't want to burn the candle from both sides.. I really don't need to run tonight." The night before was one of those times when you are sure your kids gather together to plot which awake shift they would take. I swear one of them was up from 3am until the sun finally rose at 6 and brought with it a sense of relief that the torturous night had finally ended. I would have canceled Rebecca for this Thursday and passed out on the couch again at 8pm, as I had done the previous evening if I had not felt guilty. She has been incredibly reliable and I do not want her to begin flaking out on us, so I had better not do it to her, I reasoned.

Around 2pm I received a confirmation text that she would be arriving at 7. The effects of my morning coffee were wearing off and exhaustion was slowly overtaking my body when I realized that I still didn't have to run. I could use this time to go grocery shopping (No, too lame), or pick up those free underwear with the Victoria's Secret coupon I received in the mail (No, I dread the mall), or treat myself to one of those local Asian foot massages. That didn't sound half-bad, except for the fact that I am cheap and I couldn't stomach the idea of paying a babysitter $20 and then paying an additional $20-$30 for a massage. The pull of running was too tempting. It was FREE, would offer me some alone time with my thoughts and I might even feel fast without the weight of pushing any kids uphill! So a run it was. Like a pig to the pork, I was committed.

Quickly, 6:30pm arrived and the kids were all peacefully and deeply asleep in their own beds. Rebecca's quiet knock sounded, I strapped on my Vibrams and headed up to Mulholland. Following my new "Run Your Fastest 10K-Ever Training Plan," I would complete my first set of intervals. But first, I must complete the dreaded warm-up.

Let me say that I have always abhorred warm-ups. They're awful. Running slow, stomach full of butterflies as you know what is to come and feel ready to just jump in and get the pain over with, but no, first you are told that you must complete this god-awful-jog to loosen up your muscles. Ever since my first cross-country race in HS I have hated warming-up. The clear night sky and light feeling of running solo got me through my easy 2 miles. I hid my water bottle up a little side trail for safe-keeping until I would need it on my return cool-down, punched the "start" button on my chile-red Nike watch that Alan rescued for me from a Motel-6 parking lot back in the Spring of 2005 and was on my way. The training plan had me doing 4x800m repeats at race-pace (7:15/mi) with 400m recovery jogs between. Since I didn't know the exact distance, couldn't spot any mile markers and have decided (for now at least) to forgo an expensive-GPS-high tech-computerized watch, I simply ran what I guessed to be 7:15 pace for 3 min and 38 seconds. Having been a runner for more than half my life now, one thing I do know fairly well is pace. After completing the trials of miles for so many years, you become equipped with a good internal pace calculator. Unless the course is insanely hilly, I can almost always guess my pace correctly give or take 10 seconds. The intervals felt good. The pace wasn't too fast, 800m is such a short distance and I was simply enjoying the evening air and the joy of easily passing a few male mountain bikers as they slogged uphill. Heck, I hadn't run fast like this in so many years, it was novel, unadulterated fun. I felt like a kid skipping over switchbacks in the moonlight. To cap it all off, my neighbor was up there, car parked off the side of the dirt road, playing acoustic guitar and singing into the nighttime sky. Classical music echoed off the mountains. A golf-cart of three young Persian guys passed me, shouting, in heavy accent, "You are amazing! You inspire us!!" (I was a bit shocked as I wasn't even running that fast, but still the encouragement was appreciated.) It was a magical evening.

Then came the cool-down. Ah, the coveted cool-down. For as terrible as a warm-up can be, the cool-down is the most glorious feeling you can experience when running. You have just completed a hard workout or race and now you get to just run! I have always been in love with the cool-down. By far my favorite part of distance running, I feel like I could go on forever. And I have. This has always been the easiest time for me to rack up extra weekly miles. This evening was no different. I finished my mandated 2 miles (per my self-created training plan) but was in no way ready to be done with the night. So I continued on, enjoying the live concert, taking in the night sky and the way the lights shone on Warner Center in the distance. Relishing in the fact that my kids were all at home, in peaceful slumber, unaware that their mother was out in the dark.. running. Then I realized that it was getting quite dark. My inner mother voice that I have acquired in the past 4 years urged me to run back home. My impulsive teenage-runner self pushed me to continue with the fun. Ultimately, the mother in me won that night and I glided on home, taking the shortest, safest route from Mulholland to our house on Tepoca Road. By the time I made it up our street the sky was pitch black. I floated up our steep driveway, unstrapped my shoes near the mailbox (always paranoid the ripping sound of Velcro is going to wake my sleeping Isaac, whose room sticks out adjacent to our front door) and creaked the door open. Rebecca was seated in the same position on the couch, studiously completing her undergraduate Child Development research on her Dell. Just as every other Thursday night for the past two months, she told me happily that she "Never heard a peep!" I handed her 20 bucks, thanked her for giving me this retreat and quietly locked the door behind her. In many ways, it was just another typical night, but the satisfaction of completing my first speed workout to the sound of live acoustic music under the starlit sky reminded me that life is nothing short of wonderful.

Pink, Montana Sky.

Not the same one I ran under last Thursday night, but mine was just as magical, if only in my head.

On racing

Last May 2012, I registered for my first race since 2004. Through a parent at Adara's preschool, I heard of the Valley Crest 1/2 Marathon and knew that I had to do it. The course was literally in our backyard. Voted "LA's Friendliest Race," the course traversed 13.1 miles of Santa Monica Mountain trails that I ran on every single day. I had ridden the course on my commute to/from UCLA back in 2008 pre-Adara. I was also quite possibly in the best running shape of my life thanks to pushing the girls in our double Chariot an average of 7 miles/day for their afternoon naps. It was too perfect. Training was going awesome, I was feeling great and excited to run a fast 1/2 marathon and place for women or at least in my age-group.

I had just finished a typical afternoon run when I started feeling ever-so-slight stretching in my lower abdomen. It was most likely from the ab workout I did the night prior, but hmm, maybe it was something else. To calm any doubts, I decided to take a pregnancy test. Lo and behold, my suspicions were confirmed as I saw two blue lines slowly appear. It would be a lie to say I was excited. Shock overcame me. A third child was not in the plans. We had done much to avoid it, for now at least. I was supposed to run a fast 1/2 marathon in just 2 weeks and now I was pregnant.. for the third time.

I called my midwife the next day, visited her office and felt my heart lurch with anticipation as I heard the most magical little heart beat. For the third time in as many years, I would be a mother. It was not in the plans, but I could do this. I was ready. However, I could not help but notice the irony of discovering I was pregnant just days before my first race in 8 years. With my midwife's approval, I ran the 1/2 marathon along with my friend, Tom, who happened to strain his hamstring during a track work session two days prior. We had a blast, chatting the entire time and running a comfortable pace so as not to risk this growing baby's development. Still, it was not exactly the race I had been hoping for as I couldn't even race it.

Fast forward to last Wednesday. I caught the racing bug again. After putting the kids to sleep at 6:30pm (they had all been up since 5am with no naps for the girls), I collapsed onto the couch for a dinner of leftover quinoa salad and began to browse through the internet for some local races. If I was going to race, it had to be something very easy logistically - Isaac was still nursing every couple hours and I still nurse him to sleep for naps, which he also takes every couple hours. Thought it's mostly a control issue, I hate to be away from him. That is probably the reason I take him on nearly every run with me, too. I love this little guy and like to spend every waking minute as close to him as possible. Also, he's my last little baby and I know it goes by too quickly. I am not willing to put my running hobby before his happiness or sleep/eating schedule. Then I saw that the Calabasas Classic was just 12 weeks away - the exact length of nearly every training plan. Instantly I clicked open a new tab and began exploring various training plans. An hour later, I had the next three months of running mapped out. As I wrote previously, being a mother before a runner requires a lot of flexibility so I won't stress about "the plan." At the same time, I love agendas, schedules, to-do lists and the satisfaction of drawing that little check mark that signifies "completed."

Thus, September begins with my first training plan in many years. I am excited. The notion of dedicating myself to something other than the kids feels good. This is for me, though I may even race with 1 or 2 kids (the race allows strollers!). I may not run a PR, I may not even run a fast race, but the sheer idea of racing thrills me and after 9 years, I am ready.

“Men of Oregon, I invite you to become students of your events. Running, one might say, is basically an absurd past-time upon which to be exhausting ourselves. But if you can find meaning, in the kind of running you have to do to stay on this team, chances are you will be able to find meaning in another absurd past-time: life.”
- Bill Bowerman