Lesson #1: When kids are in the plan, expect plans to go awry.
Lesson #2: The more you try to plan, the less likely plans will go as expected.
Lesson #3: Kids are tricksters.
I have learned and re-learned Lesson #1 a million times over, yet I still forget it. Lesson #2 also alludes me. Yesterday was one of those days where I had this mental plan in my head -- a list of to-do items and a somewhat-flexible time schedule in which to complete it. Item #1 on our list was Buy Toilet Paper! Before having kids, such an item will take you 10 minutes total to complete. With kids, though, this can become your entire day. We missed our weekly playgroup yesterday to re-stock our supply of toilet paper. No joke.
You see, our daily timeline largely revolves around little boy's naps. Adara never naps anymore and if Cesia sleeps mid-day it is always in the stroller during an afternoon run. Isaac either naps in bed or the stroller, but if it is in the former he can slumber peacefully for 2-3 hours these days. This means 2-3 hours where I can get stuff done around the house and/or play with the girls. If he sleeps in the stroller (or car) he rarely transfers to bed and he can be easily fooled into thinking that 5 minutes of shut-eye was his nap.. until 5pm rolls around of course and little boy can't keep his eyes open at the dinner table. Last night his head nearly hit the pile of veggies.
So, our day revolves around Isaac's nap schedule. (Yes, I am thankful that we can be so flexible most days to let the baby determine our day.) The problem, though, is that Isaac doesn't have a schedule. He wakes anywhere between 5am to 7:30am, naps about 2 hrs after wake time and the duration of that nap can be anywhere between 30 minutes to 3 hrs. We never know. Babies don't give you a heads up - "Hey Mom, I'm going to snooze for 2.5 hours today. See you later!" Mostly, we just wait. We play, we sticker (a new verb Adara created), we create, we clean, until Isaac's head pops up on the monitor and he stands peering over the crib waiting to be released from his cell. Our house is tiny and we have to keep quiet, which usually means we have to stay outside during his nap otherwise we just wake him. (Er, Cesia just wakes him... she still doesn't have much concept of keeping quiet.) Thus, we can't actually get any work done during his nap. When he wakes the adventure begins, the rush and hustle and bustle of trying to get every.single.thing.done before he needs to sleep again in 2-3 hrs. And his meals usually take about 1 hr as he now insists on feeding himself and I sit there watching with mixed emotions as my littlest one exerts his own independence. Now we are down to 1 hr, a long to-do list and three kids who take a good 20 minutes to load into the car. How I took those grocery shopping trips fore granted pre-kids.
Yesterday was the "Toilet Paper Emergency." As the girls were making their final bathroom trips before bed Monday night I realized that we were down to about 1/16th a roll of toilet paper. 1/16th of a roll is approximately 20 squares. We have 4 people in this house who use toilet paper. Rations went out. I had never been so fortunate to have 1 baby who only needs wipes and a bulk supply of wipes just in case. I signed a breath of frustration, having just made trips to Trader Joe's and Target on Sunday so that we could avoid the whole 1 mama, 3 kid grocery trip mid-week. I rarely plan ahead like that, so I was doubly annoyed with myself for missing the fact that we were out of toilet paper. How did I miss that fact? Ughh..
So, fast forward through all the drama and arguing over shoes and clothes and jackets and the whole "event" of loading into the mini-van. And Cesia having to buckle her own car seat despite the fact that she really can't... We make it to Whole Foods, the store I ultimately decided upon for our toilet paper purchase since we are also in need of yogurt, vitamins and some organic produce (I suppose I hadn't really planned ahead that well after all). No close parking spots, oh well. We make it into the store alive, Isaac dangling like a nearly fumbled football from my left arm and the girls each tripping once on our walk into the store after insisting on wearing 2-size-too-big rain boots (though it wasn't raining).
Apparently everyone else in the valley was also out of toilet paper or other necessary items, as I had NEVER seen the store that busy, except maybe on Thanksgiving morning 2 years ago when we forgot to shop beforehand. And now I am starving, Isaac is grumpy and hungry because he hasn't eaten in over 3 hours, was too distracted by his sisters to nurse after his nap and I didn't have time to feed him before making it to the store because by now we really needed the freaking T.P. Oh, and the girls were also hungry and Cesia getting tired and feistier by the minute. So we throw everything within sight into the cart without ever making a complete stop in the aisles, check out and decide to sit down to eat a few to-go items STAT, before Mama's blood sugar really plummets. Things get ugly when that happens. It's crowded, but we find one little table and 1 open high chair and cram in, make a gigantic mess, clean up that mess as much as possible and run out to our car (with only 1 trip in route this time), unpack the groceries, put the baby to sleep, breathe a sigh of relief that at least we now have toilet paper.
Then I hear Cesia shout, "Mama I went pee!"
"Ok, I'll unwrap the toilet paper! One second!" I reply.
"I already have some. It's under my sink," the squeaky voice replies from the bathroom.
"No, remember we didn't have any, Cesia."
"No, it's under my sink," she insists again.
I come upstairs to find her pulling a full pack, 8-rolls of that blessed white paper out from under her sink.
"What?!" I breathe, as our entire afternoon just revolved around making to the store to replenish our missing supply.
"I took it from your bathroom and put it in mine the last night," Cesia replies matter-of-factly.
Then, I laughed, and re-learned Lesson #3: Kids are tricksters.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh. And run. Isaac is waking now from an awesome 2.5 hr morning nap, the girls are at school and my heel is feeling pretty darn good so off in the triple we'll go to bring them on home!
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Friday, October 25, 2013
Loving our kids
Something was in the air yesterday. Maybe it was a new moon. My good friend Jean swears all bets are off when the new moon comes along. Maybe it was just coincidental, but it seemed that everyone within my circle was having a rough day. I felt it in our household, Alan was dealing with work frustrations, my 86 year old neighbor and friend was suffering from a nasty stomach bug. Kids were acting buggy, mamas were hormonal, babies weren't sleeping, toddlers were coming down with yet another round of colds, freeway lanes were closed, traffic was crawling and everyone just needed to get through the day. The sun sunk down last night and a new one rose this Friday, bringing with it joy and a sense of peace. It's Friday, all! We're almost there, relief is in sight.
Crazy Cesia in her glory.
Sweet Cesia getting her nails painted for the first time.
Thursdays are always the most difficult day of the week for me. Mentally, the weekend just seems so far off and I am tired from a busy week. I brace myself, prepare for long Thursdays, but sometimes no matter what I do it just doesn't seem like enough. What can we do? We complain, we vent, we write, we read. When I need a little extra to get me through the day I often fire up the laptop and click straight over to Kelle Hampton's Enjoying the Small Things. She has the uncanny ability to coat everything with positivity. Unicorn-lover and eternal optimist, she inspires me. Today I read one of the most moving essays on her site, written by her good friend Elizabeth. I was reminded of the incredible power of the human spirit and the strength of a Mama's love. I have to share. Here it is: http://www.kellehampton.com/?
How strong we are when we accept life and all its challenges and just live. Live to the fullest. Happy Friday, friends!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Climbing Trees
Today was just a typical Tuesday. Alan is out of town on a quick business trip to the Midwest, the girls were up by 5am and the little boy followed soon after. We had nothing planned, per our typical Tuesday schedule (or lack thereof). We like to keep busy most days. The girls go to school Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Thursday is gymnastics day for both Adara and Cesia about 12 miles away which means it takes up our whole afternoon, especially when you take into account that we begin the process of leaving the house a good 20 minutes before we actually have to leave. Leaving takes time.
Tuesdays we try not to leave. It is a great day when we don't have to drive. There is time for adventure, time for beach days and city explorations, time for road trips, but there is also a time for that much overlooked option of just staying put. Enjoying your home, your kids, staying in PJ's until noon (or 3pm), cooking slow and leisurely, letting dirty dishes pile up in the sink, letting toddlers draw on their plastic animals and be messy, moving the art table inside at 6am for some painting time so that you don't wake the neighbors, spending 2 hours at "the climbing trees" while little ones rest and dream and explore.
Today was a home day. It was the best kind of home day, where the only time we left the perimeter was for a relaxed run to our magical spot: the climbing trees. It is our spot to rejuvenate, restore, relax, reflect. Adara had the right idea this morning when she packed her journal and astronaut pen -- brought home by daddy from last year's World Science Festival in NYC -- into her little purse before hopping into the triple. Cesia grabbed her blankie and purple frog PJ's which arrived in the mail last week for her Halloween costume and she hasn't put down since their arrival, though she hasn't even tried them on, just likes to hold, cuddle and sleep with the fave fleecy footies. Little sister knew that a long afternoon nap was in store for her today. Not being able to run these past two weeks, she has missed many naps (it's nearly the only way I can get her to fall asleep) so today she wasn't messing around. Comfort items in hand, she was drifting through dreamland before we even made it the half mile to the trail.
After laying low for more than two weeks and actually listening to my doctor(s) and not running, my foot is feeling pretty good. In fact, I have not felt any pain at all for two days now. I feel proud of myself.. for taking care of my body, for resting, for healing, for staying put. I will continue to run smart, to take it easy, avoid rushing into fast miles or long runs or anything too strenuous until my bones heal completely. I am being patient, happy and enjoying the tiny moments of today: running, nature, our spot, my three beautiful babies who bring so much joy into my life, dinner play-dates with friends, giggles and plans for hide and seek setting the background tone for chatting mamas, independent babies who suddenly spit out purees in favor of feeding themselves ABC pasta and meatballs and whole roasted sweet potatoes, the feeling of missing your husband and anxiously awaiting his return home to complete our family.
What are you enjoying this Tuesday evening? How do you find your peace? Is it in seeking adventure or staying put? Do you have a secret spot? I know that someday we will move, the kids will be older, they won't want to sit in the stroller or join me on runs, they will choose their friends over time spent with mama. We only have this life for so long and our kids are only little for such a brief period, so enjoy it. Find your climbing trees.
Tuesdays we try not to leave. It is a great day when we don't have to drive. There is time for adventure, time for beach days and city explorations, time for road trips, but there is also a time for that much overlooked option of just staying put. Enjoying your home, your kids, staying in PJ's until noon (or 3pm), cooking slow and leisurely, letting dirty dishes pile up in the sink, letting toddlers draw on their plastic animals and be messy, moving the art table inside at 6am for some painting time so that you don't wake the neighbors, spending 2 hours at "the climbing trees" while little ones rest and dream and explore.
Today was a home day. It was the best kind of home day, where the only time we left the perimeter was for a relaxed run to our magical spot: the climbing trees. It is our spot to rejuvenate, restore, relax, reflect. Adara had the right idea this morning when she packed her journal and astronaut pen -- brought home by daddy from last year's World Science Festival in NYC -- into her little purse before hopping into the triple. Cesia grabbed her blankie and purple frog PJ's which arrived in the mail last week for her Halloween costume and she hasn't put down since their arrival, though she hasn't even tried them on, just likes to hold, cuddle and sleep with the fave fleecy footies. Little sister knew that a long afternoon nap was in store for her today. Not being able to run these past two weeks, she has missed many naps (it's nearly the only way I can get her to fall asleep) so today she wasn't messing around. Comfort items in hand, she was drifting through dreamland before we even made it the half mile to the trail.
Just reached the trail. Two ready to play, one ready to dream.
Adara and Isaac explore while Cesia sleeps in the background.
Adara writing in her journal. In the past week she has made a huge leap
and now writes all her letters and remembers how to spell her friends' names and other words.
Littlest climber.
Just enjoying life and each other.
My Isaac. Feeling so in love with this boy, always.
After laying low for more than two weeks and actually listening to my doctor(s) and not running, my foot is feeling pretty good. In fact, I have not felt any pain at all for two days now. I feel proud of myself.. for taking care of my body, for resting, for healing, for staying put. I will continue to run smart, to take it easy, avoid rushing into fast miles or long runs or anything too strenuous until my bones heal completely. I am being patient, happy and enjoying the tiny moments of today: running, nature, our spot, my three beautiful babies who bring so much joy into my life, dinner play-dates with friends, giggles and plans for hide and seek setting the background tone for chatting mamas, independent babies who suddenly spit out purees in favor of feeding themselves ABC pasta and meatballs and whole roasted sweet potatoes, the feeling of missing your husband and anxiously awaiting his return home to complete our family.
Little boy refused to eat for nearly 1 week, finally I thought to give him "real" food
rather than the pureed version of our meals and he went to town!
Adara shows Isaac the ropes.
What are you enjoying this Tuesday evening? How do you find your peace? Is it in seeking adventure or staying put? Do you have a secret spot? I know that someday we will move, the kids will be older, they won't want to sit in the stroller or join me on runs, they will choose their friends over time spent with mama. We only have this life for so long and our kids are only little for such a brief period, so enjoy it. Find your climbing trees.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Learning Patience
"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."
- Jean Jacques-Rousseau
I had a good phone conversation with my dad this morning. I called to do a quick check-in on the status of my grandfather. Just two weeks shy of his 96th Birthday, he fell in his home a few days ago and has been suffering both physically and mentally in the hospital since then. His children, one being my mother, are all anxiously deciding the next move. During the 15-minute talk with my dad, the theme of patience came up many times.
Undoubtedly, my mom is summoning up her greatest patience in dealing with her bedridden father, whose mental capacities are slipping and mistook her for his own mother. She is asking the patience and wisdom of God to relieve his misery and take him to be with my grandmother (who passed away a few years ago).
Sometimes all we can do is wait, be still and know that there is a plan for us. We must be patient. I have to admit that while I may be good at preaching this, I am not skilled at following through with it in my own life. Outside of raising and working with kids, I do not possess so much of this coveted virtue. (Thankfully I have been told by many that I have the patience of a saint when working with young children.) When it comes to my own life and personal decisions, however, I am impulsive. When I decide that I want something, I want it yesterday. Anything. Take this morning, Alan asked me to pack up the girls' lunches while he showered and packed the car for their trip to the Santa Barbara Zoo this morning. I started taking out Tupperware to fill with snacks and then noticed there were little clips hanging in that particular cabinet. Yes, we have lived in our house for over 5 years now and these clips have been here since the day we first saw the house, but I never paid much attention to them. In that second, I had to reorganize the cabinets. Our house is a mess, I thought. Moving the coffee cups to these hanging clips will save us so much space. Before I knew it I had emptied the entire Tupperware cabinet, started reorganizing a second cupboard to store the Tupperware, began to move around the coffee/tea we order in bulk and then remembered that, Oh shoot, I need to make those sandwiches! But I want to finish cleaning the kitchen.
Ideas for cleaning out the girls' room popped in my head and within minutes my free day with Isaac was quickly being filled with grand plans for a Spring Cleaning! The moment the idea entered my brain, I wanted it done. I needed it done. Running around the kitchen, up and down the stairs, in and out of rooms, I had a plan and had to get it done NOW. Right. This. Second. There was no waiting. Clearly, there was no patience. (Luckily Isaac enjoyed watching me run around like a madwoman as he crawled and dashed after me in circles, while simultaneously making messes everywhere he went.)
My running life does not know that patience even exists. Running, patience and Caitlin have never met. On the day I decided that Oh, it would be fun to race again, not only was I registered for the Calabasas 10K by nightfall but I also had a training plan for the next 3 months typed up and running clothes lied out for the next morning's sunrise run with the kids. I was ready. Oh, and I wanted to run fast, too, win my age-group, and PR while I was at it. Yes, I am laughing at myself right now. That is one skill I do possess: the ability to laugh at myself.
Two months later and I am nursing a stress fracture. Stress fractures happen when one does too much too fast. Who, me? Patience, patience, patience. Perhaps I will get a tattoo of this all-important word sketched across my body to help remind me. Not really, but if I do decide to get a tattoo rest assured that I will rush out the door to the nearest tattoo parlor and have it done first thing. : )
Reflecting on the most accomplished runners I know and I know of, nearly everyone has this one important skill: patience. I have held this theory for years that the best runners out there are those who have been able to stay injury-free. I believe that avoiding injuries comes back to patience. Listening to your body, but more than that. Building up slowly, over the years, knowing that you don't have to be the very best runner right now. From the moment I started running, I wanted to be better. I always wanted to be faster, stronger. The drive to succeed is crucial, but so is the patience in getting there. Looking back, if I had run half the mileage that I did during my first few years of running I may very likely have been able to avoid years off due to injury. If I had built up more slowly I could have let my body adjust to the physical demands rather than pushing through a wall until it all crumbled down.
Though (I think) I was at least a little smarter this time around, I still pushed too much too fast. I have been dying to run a marathon for years now, and every time I am running healthy for just a few months I start to think, This is my chance! I have this belief that I need to jump on the situation and run the 26.2 miles as soon as possible.. before I get injured again. This is silly. I could have run a marathon by now if I had built up slowly. I have to stop fearing getting hurt and actually do something to avoid getting hurt. Maybe my marathon training plan needs to be a long-term plan. Maybe a 2-year plan (or more, though I admit the patience involved terrifies me) of slowly building up, letting my muscles and joints and bones adjust to the demands. Most marathon training plans are 3-4 months in length, but I now know that my body is going to need more time. Two years seems like a lifetime away, but if I had made this plan just two years ago, I would have run a marathon by now.
Are you a patient person? In running and life? How do you stay patient when you know what you want and feel ready to do it? Tips, please? I'm ready to listen. I know that I want to be a runner for the rest of my life. This latest injury has convinced me of that more than ever before. I am ready to be patient. Right NOW.
A photo snapshot of our week below. Happy Saturday All!
Monday was a sick day for Cesia. Sweet baby passed out on the couch at 9am.
Tuesday lunch date out with my favorite little girls (and Isaac, not pictured)!
Cesia used Wednesday morning's 5 min drive to school to cover herself in stickers.
Friday afternoon nap in the stroller and
discovering that my heel feels better when running vs. walking.
Saturday morning run with Isaac in the Bob.
First run with the Bob. First run in shoes. Pain free = happy everybody!
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Mediocrity
All week long, I have been wrestling with the idea of mediocrity. A quote that hung over my bed in high school comes to mind, "Half-hearted trying will only create half-hearted results, try the lottery instead." I have never believed in doing things half-heartedly. It's all or nothing. Whether it be school, work or running, I have never performed these acts less than my best. I don't like to sell myself short. That isn't to say that I was always a straight-A student or champion runner. I wasn't and I am not. But I was always the hardest worker. I was the one setting my alarm for 5:50am every morning of high school so that I could get in a run before classes. I was the one who ran an extra 2 miles to and from practices each afternoon just to get in some extra mileage. I was the one who pulled all-nighters, nearly fell asleep in the library and studied my butt off to earn my B.S. in Neuroscience from a top-ranked college. The hard sciences never came naturally to me but I loved learning and never feared the mandated work. I have always believed that if you work hard enough you can accomplish anything. I tell my kids this everyday. I don't give out blind praise, I don't commend them for being smart, but I do reinforce the importance or always trying your best and working hard.
One of my running goals has always been to qualify for the Boston Marathon. A few weeks ago, I felt optimistic about this goal. Finally done having kids and feeling happy with my fitness level just 9 months postpartum, I was beginning to think this may be the year to try my first marathon. I even bought a single Bob in preparation of the many months of miles Isaac and I would cover together. (Sigh.) While I have been a distance runner for half my life now, I have never run a marathon. I know the distance commands respect and I don't treat it lightly. I expect(ed) to run at least a few before really attempting to qualify for Boston. An old high school track coach and Olympic Marathon Trials qualifier once told me that it is very different running a marathon and racing a marathon. I believe her.
Just two weeks ago I was beginning to research 2014 marathons. My top choices were: Mountains to Ocean marathon in Santa Barbara (small, nearby, fast), Chicago (my hometown, iconic marathon, fast), Portland (excuse to see/visit friends and family up there), Catalina Trail Marathon (definitely want to do this sometime, but definitely slow, difficult marathon as it's all on trails and incredibly hilly).
Time changes everything. Just two weeks later and I sit here on the couch icing my foot and pondering whether I will ever be able to run healthily again. Though I've suffered numerous stress fractures in the past, this one was very different. None of the others were shocking to me. I was always running insanely high mileage, taking poor care of my body, etc., etc., etc. This one, though, seemed to pop out of nowhere. I was running conservative numbers, very slowly increasing distance and eating right. Before that Saturday morning run that ended with me limping home and straight to see a podiatrist, I felt so strong. Powerful. Invincible. Happy.
Following my diagnosis of stress fracture by the podiatrist, I consulted a local chiropractor who specializes in working with distance runners, then my primary care physician who is a sports medicine specialist and finally got an X-Ray which just further confirmed what I already knew was true. I also knew that getting this confirmed diagnosis via x-ray was the first step to my recovery. I needed to know that something was indeed wrong before I could figure out how to fix it. The second step has had me pouring over research articles about running, stress fractures and minimalist vs. maximalist shoes. I need an action plan. I need to know how I am going to be able to run again and avoid injury this time around. I need to believe that I can run again, but also stay realistic about my history of stress fractures. Do I need to resort to mediocrity? Perhaps.
While pregnant with Isaac I ran a trail half-marathon. I knew that I was pregnant and didn't push it, but still ran it relatively fast. Though I was prepared for this race, I didn't really train for it. No mile repeats, no speed-work, no schedule or plan except daily runs to get the girls to sleep. I didn't record my mileage. When I decided to race the Calabasas Classic 10K this November, I sat down and created a training plan for myself. I followed that plan to the tee and completed every scheduled long run and speed-workout, running my intervals faster than planned. I was doing it.. until, I wasn't. Until my heel gave out. So why was I able to run a fast 13.1 miles less than 2 years ago but now couldn't even get to the start line of a 6.2 miler? The speed work, I believe.
I run in Vibram Fivefingers. Semi-barefoot. Definitely minimalist. I truly do love to feel the ground, the rocks, the earth. It is a long story which requires it's own post about why I wear Vibrams, but the short story is that they saved my running. They changed my form. I no longer heel-strike but land on the ball of my foot. "Then how did you fracture your heel," my brilliant husband asked, "If you don't land on your heel?" Good question. While training and running the trail 1/2 marathon I didn't land on my heel. I stayed healthy and ran as much as I wanted without a care as to my weekly mileage. I ran free. While completing fast workouts this time around, specifically weekly mile repeats, I am sure my form broke down, resulting in the dreaded return of the heel strike. I was literally pounding my nearly-bare-heel into the ground mile after mile, week after week, month after month. In cushioned shoes, perhaps my foot could have handled the pressure. Perhaps.. Perhaps my body can't handle running fast intervals.. yet or ever. Perhaps I will never run another PR, never qualify for the Boston Marathon. Only time will tell. For now, I just want to run.
If my choice is either run or run fast, I choose to run. Is this choosing mediocrity? Perhaps, but it's also choosing health and happiness and I am okay with that. Are you? Is it better to run just to run, knowing that you will never reach your goals or never better your best times? Or is it better to simply not run? I choose run. Do what you do, what you love to do, what you can do with your situation and this will make you happy.
One of my running goals has always been to qualify for the Boston Marathon. A few weeks ago, I felt optimistic about this goal. Finally done having kids and feeling happy with my fitness level just 9 months postpartum, I was beginning to think this may be the year to try my first marathon. I even bought a single Bob in preparation of the many months of miles Isaac and I would cover together. (Sigh.) While I have been a distance runner for half my life now, I have never run a marathon. I know the distance commands respect and I don't treat it lightly. I expect(ed) to run at least a few before really attempting to qualify for Boston. An old high school track coach and Olympic Marathon Trials qualifier once told me that it is very different running a marathon and racing a marathon. I believe her.
Just two weeks ago I was beginning to research 2014 marathons. My top choices were: Mountains to Ocean marathon in Santa Barbara (small, nearby, fast), Chicago (my hometown, iconic marathon, fast), Portland (excuse to see/visit friends and family up there), Catalina Trail Marathon (definitely want to do this sometime, but definitely slow, difficult marathon as it's all on trails and incredibly hilly).
Time changes everything. Just two weeks later and I sit here on the couch icing my foot and pondering whether I will ever be able to run healthily again. Though I've suffered numerous stress fractures in the past, this one was very different. None of the others were shocking to me. I was always running insanely high mileage, taking poor care of my body, etc., etc., etc. This one, though, seemed to pop out of nowhere. I was running conservative numbers, very slowly increasing distance and eating right. Before that Saturday morning run that ended with me limping home and straight to see a podiatrist, I felt so strong. Powerful. Invincible. Happy.
Following my diagnosis of stress fracture by the podiatrist, I consulted a local chiropractor who specializes in working with distance runners, then my primary care physician who is a sports medicine specialist and finally got an X-Ray which just further confirmed what I already knew was true. I also knew that getting this confirmed diagnosis via x-ray was the first step to my recovery. I needed to know that something was indeed wrong before I could figure out how to fix it. The second step has had me pouring over research articles about running, stress fractures and minimalist vs. maximalist shoes. I need an action plan. I need to know how I am going to be able to run again and avoid injury this time around. I need to believe that I can run again, but also stay realistic about my history of stress fractures. Do I need to resort to mediocrity? Perhaps.
While pregnant with Isaac I ran a trail half-marathon. I knew that I was pregnant and didn't push it, but still ran it relatively fast. Though I was prepared for this race, I didn't really train for it. No mile repeats, no speed-work, no schedule or plan except daily runs to get the girls to sleep. I didn't record my mileage. When I decided to race the Calabasas Classic 10K this November, I sat down and created a training plan for myself. I followed that plan to the tee and completed every scheduled long run and speed-workout, running my intervals faster than planned. I was doing it.. until, I wasn't. Until my heel gave out. So why was I able to run a fast 13.1 miles less than 2 years ago but now couldn't even get to the start line of a 6.2 miler? The speed work, I believe.
I run in Vibram Fivefingers. Semi-barefoot. Definitely minimalist. I truly do love to feel the ground, the rocks, the earth. It is a long story which requires it's own post about why I wear Vibrams, but the short story is that they saved my running. They changed my form. I no longer heel-strike but land on the ball of my foot. "Then how did you fracture your heel," my brilliant husband asked, "If you don't land on your heel?" Good question. While training and running the trail 1/2 marathon I didn't land on my heel. I stayed healthy and ran as much as I wanted without a care as to my weekly mileage. I ran free. While completing fast workouts this time around, specifically weekly mile repeats, I am sure my form broke down, resulting in the dreaded return of the heel strike. I was literally pounding my nearly-bare-heel into the ground mile after mile, week after week, month after month. In cushioned shoes, perhaps my foot could have handled the pressure. Perhaps.. Perhaps my body can't handle running fast intervals.. yet or ever. Perhaps I will never run another PR, never qualify for the Boston Marathon. Only time will tell. For now, I just want to run.
If my choice is either run or run fast, I choose to run. Is this choosing mediocrity? Perhaps, but it's also choosing health and happiness and I am okay with that. Are you? Is it better to run just to run, knowing that you will never reach your goals or never better your best times? Or is it better to simply not run? I choose run. Do what you do, what you love to do, what you can do with your situation and this will make you happy.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Together Time
Today marks nine days off running. The first six were hard. I felt myself going a little crazy. Okay, that's not true.. more than a little crazy. I shifted through phases of feeling sorry for myself and then remembering that everything in life happens for a reason, overwhelming frustration and then telling myself that things could be worse, feeling lost and purposeless and then trying to find meaning through it all. Nine days and one wonderful family weekend later and I am there. Almost.
Running is my thing. Just last week I wrote about labels and said, "I am more than a runner.." And I know that I am. At the core of my being, I know that I am much more than just a runner. However, this past week I have been forced to ask myself, "Who am I when I'm not a runner?" What are my days without running? They surely don't feel as fun. I am lacking that inner peace. My brain is lacking it's daily dose of endorphins. I am frustrated, irritable, annoyed and impatient.
Last Thursday night 5pm came along, I should have been at the Malibu Trail Race Series. Instead, I was cleaning pee off our living room rug. Adara peed on the ground after trying to hold it for way too many hours, Isaac was starving and shouting in his high chair and Cesia was screaming that someone took off her socks (Sidenote: no one took off her socks, she did it herself and then forgot and then got mad). We were all crabby and hungry. I broke down. Tears running down my cheeks, I thought over my day. Since 5am I had been running, running errands, loading kids in and out of car seats, driving far too many miles, wiping too many bottoms, cleaning up too many toys, asking toddlers too many times to please just __ (fill in the blank with said task). Now I was cleaning pee. Teeming with anger, I picked up Adara under her armpits and placed her straight into the tub. She has been potty trained for over 2 years now and honestly had not had an accident in years. Surely this was out of attention. She is sensitive. Kids know everything, they sense our frustration and stress. I knew this was her way of getting my attention and I felt bad about that. But really, did she have to pee?
I grabbed Isaac from his high chair, before even getting a chance to feed him dinner and brought him upstairs with me. Poor baby, I thought. I can't even find the time to sit down and feed him a good meal before having to clean another mess. Then he started to laugh. Hysterically. A good belly laugh. For no reason at all. At first I just smiled and looked at him, then he laughed more. He couldn't stop and before I knew it, neither could I. Adara caught it next. Cesia, never missing a party, came pounding down the hall to discover what the laughter was all about. Before I knew it the four of us were sitting on my bathroom floor laughing. About nothing and everything.
Whoever said laughter is the best medicine knew what (s)he was talking about. A good dose of side-aching giggles opened my eyes. I am more than a runner. I am a mother, too, and right now that is what my kids need. They need more from me and I need to be more for them. However, they also need to understand my frustration and the cause of it. After a good laughing fit we had a good conversation over dinner. I explained to the girls that my foot is hurt and I can't run and it's really hard for me, because I love to run. It's hard when we can't do things that make us feel good, and they need to learn that lesson, so we talked. They asked questions and they got it. They, too, are anxious to run to school again and to the climbing trees. For now, though, we must all just be patient.
We stayed on our laughing track and had the best weekend in a long time, full of family time. Lately we have been doing a divide and conquer on the weekends. There is great value in that -- Alan gets alone time with the girls and vice versa and I get a break while Isaac naps at home. However, there is also a time for family togetherness. I realize that was what I/we had been missing. And, how I love our family.
Saturday was spent with good friends sharing good food at Pedaler's Fork (one of our favorite local organic, vegan-friendly, bicycle-inspired restaurants). After brunch the fun was moved to our backyard where we sat around and chatted while the kids happily played. Nothing fancy, nothing organized, just relaxed conversation with the best of friends. Alan and I continued our fun into the night with a moon-lit mountain bike ride. We didn't see a single soul up there (besides a few leaping deer) for the entire 90 minutes. And, silver-lining: my legs sure felt fresh and fast on the bike after a week off running!
Sunday morning was Sunday School and community bonding over a wonderful church service. Our pastor excitedly introduced our new song leader, Paulie Z., who transformed the church into a rock concert with his upbeat energy and soulful voice. All feeling moved, happy and ready to go we headed to the LA Zoo as a family for the first time since Isaac's birth. Alan takes the girls there all the time by himself, but today we went together. Isaac spent most of the trip happily sitting in the triple just smiling and babbling away. Adara ran from exhibit to exhibit excitedly telling me what animal we would see next, the zoo expert she has become. Cesia shifted between nap in the car to nap in the stroller to skipping through the final exhibits of the zoo before heading home to a backyard BBQ.
What a weekend! Just what the doctor ordered (minus all the walking at the Zoo). I did wear supportive footwear and my heel isn't too much worse for the wear this morning and my head is definitely in a better place. Hope you all had some fun together time, too!
Running is my thing. Just last week I wrote about labels and said, "I am more than a runner.." And I know that I am. At the core of my being, I know that I am much more than just a runner. However, this past week I have been forced to ask myself, "Who am I when I'm not a runner?" What are my days without running? They surely don't feel as fun. I am lacking that inner peace. My brain is lacking it's daily dose of endorphins. I am frustrated, irritable, annoyed and impatient.
Last Thursday night 5pm came along, I should have been at the Malibu Trail Race Series. Instead, I was cleaning pee off our living room rug. Adara peed on the ground after trying to hold it for way too many hours, Isaac was starving and shouting in his high chair and Cesia was screaming that someone took off her socks (Sidenote: no one took off her socks, she did it herself and then forgot and then got mad). We were all crabby and hungry. I broke down. Tears running down my cheeks, I thought over my day. Since 5am I had been running, running errands, loading kids in and out of car seats, driving far too many miles, wiping too many bottoms, cleaning up too many toys, asking toddlers too many times to please just __ (fill in the blank with said task). Now I was cleaning pee. Teeming with anger, I picked up Adara under her armpits and placed her straight into the tub. She has been potty trained for over 2 years now and honestly had not had an accident in years. Surely this was out of attention. She is sensitive. Kids know everything, they sense our frustration and stress. I knew this was her way of getting my attention and I felt bad about that. But really, did she have to pee?
I grabbed Isaac from his high chair, before even getting a chance to feed him dinner and brought him upstairs with me. Poor baby, I thought. I can't even find the time to sit down and feed him a good meal before having to clean another mess. Then he started to laugh. Hysterically. A good belly laugh. For no reason at all. At first I just smiled and looked at him, then he laughed more. He couldn't stop and before I knew it, neither could I. Adara caught it next. Cesia, never missing a party, came pounding down the hall to discover what the laughter was all about. Before I knew it the four of us were sitting on my bathroom floor laughing. About nothing and everything.
Whoever said laughter is the best medicine knew what (s)he was talking about. A good dose of side-aching giggles opened my eyes. I am more than a runner. I am a mother, too, and right now that is what my kids need. They need more from me and I need to be more for them. However, they also need to understand my frustration and the cause of it. After a good laughing fit we had a good conversation over dinner. I explained to the girls that my foot is hurt and I can't run and it's really hard for me, because I love to run. It's hard when we can't do things that make us feel good, and they need to learn that lesson, so we talked. They asked questions and they got it. They, too, are anxious to run to school again and to the climbing trees. For now, though, we must all just be patient.
We stayed on our laughing track and had the best weekend in a long time, full of family time. Lately we have been doing a divide and conquer on the weekends. There is great value in that -- Alan gets alone time with the girls and vice versa and I get a break while Isaac naps at home. However, there is also a time for family togetherness. I realize that was what I/we had been missing. And, how I love our family.
Saturday was spent with good friends sharing good food at Pedaler's Fork (one of our favorite local organic, vegan-friendly, bicycle-inspired restaurants). After brunch the fun was moved to our backyard where we sat around and chatted while the kids happily played. Nothing fancy, nothing organized, just relaxed conversation with the best of friends. Alan and I continued our fun into the night with a moon-lit mountain bike ride. We didn't see a single soul up there (besides a few leaping deer) for the entire 90 minutes. And, silver-lining: my legs sure felt fresh and fast on the bike after a week off running!
Daddy and Daughter-long-legs outside Pedaler's Fork.
Sunday morning was Sunday School and community bonding over a wonderful church service. Our pastor excitedly introduced our new song leader, Paulie Z., who transformed the church into a rock concert with his upbeat energy and soulful voice. All feeling moved, happy and ready to go we headed to the LA Zoo as a family for the first time since Isaac's birth. Alan takes the girls there all the time by himself, but today we went together. Isaac spent most of the trip happily sitting in the triple just smiling and babbling away. Adara ran from exhibit to exhibit excitedly telling me what animal we would see next, the zoo expert she has become. Cesia shifted between nap in the car to nap in the stroller to skipping through the final exhibits of the zoo before heading home to a backyard BBQ.
Alan gets a turn with the triple!
We got lots of stares at the Zoo but I still love this thing, and these riders.
Adara and Isaac getting out some energy
at the Zoo playground while Cesia snoozed.
What a weekend! Just what the doctor ordered (minus all the walking at the Zoo). I did wear supportive footwear and my heel isn't too much worse for the wear this morning and my head is definitely in a better place. Hope you all had some fun together time, too!
Saturday, October 12, 2013
We Lean...
I have never been a great friend and I am no one's best friend. Well, maybe when I was little I was a best friend to someone. But that best friend died. I met Kelly the summer before 2nd grade. We were not in the same home room, which could spell death to a blooming friendship, but not to ours. We lived down the street from each other, we were both younger siblings, both a little shy, awkward and looking for our place. We found solace in each other. Years passed and our friendship changed with the seasons. We were never the kind of best friends who were inseparable. Things came between us -- cliques, boys, sports -- but we always remained close. There was this unspoken secret between us that we would always be there as best friends for each other. We spent many long nights in Kelly's car... just talking. About everything and anything. Mostly melancholic teenager things. All-consuming, important topics such as our latest results in the swim meet (Kelly) or cross country race (me), dates to homecoming (Kelly), SAT scores (me), annoying siblings (both). Growing up together, there was no topic we couldn't approach. We knew every little thing about each other. When it mattered, we were there for each other. We leaned.
Christmas break 2003, Kelly went on her annual winter road trip to visit family in Florida. She had done this so many times before. Like so many other times, she invited me along. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, call if you're coming," she told me late Christmas night. We were lying on my couch watching Planes, Trains and Automobiles, just as we did for many Christmases now, with several of my cousins whose parents were still drinking away the holidays. "Okay, maybe I will come. Let me talk to my parents," I told her. I never talked to my parents. By the time December 26th rolled around I was already on to my new training schedule. Focused and all-consumed by running, I knew that a road trip to Florida would surely interfere with my very serious indoor track winter training schedule. Ridiculous, but true.
I never called. I let Kelly drive away with her Uncle, Sister and two cousins to visit extended family in Florida for the next couple of weeks. I would never see her again. We spoke on the phone a few times during her trip, mostly about very important things like the boy she had just started dating. On the drive home, Kelly lost control of the van and lost her life. Everyone else in that van survived, with hellish memories of the accident and scars that would never heal. Kelly died.
Since her death I have built walls around me. I don't need a best friend, I have told myself. I had one and she's dead and I can't do this again. In high school I never had a best friend. In fact, I had very few real friends at all. The streets became my friends, workouts were my pastime and I had no energy or interest in opening myself up to new people. I am not good at small talk, I am terrible at keeping in touch. I don't answer my phone, rarely return calls and have lost most of my college friendships due to simply not keeping in touch. I am blessed to still have a few close high school and college friends, a few. These are people who have not given up on me. They know I'm awful at keeping in touch but they accept that. When celebrations, or tragedies, or big events happen, we are there for each other. We see each other every couple of years and when we meet it feels as if little time has passed. For those of you who have stuck with me, thank you. I love you and I need you.
As a mother, I am finding more and more everyday that I need friends. I need to lean. Raising kids is surely the most challenging task in which I have ever embarked. Teaching children to be kind, respectful, loving, empathetic, well-rounded people is tough. Nearly impossible, in the world as it is today. But we try, we try our best to show our kids how to live and love. Through it all, we need each other. Maybe for the first time in my life, I have really begun to understand the power and importance of friendship.
To all of you whom I have leaned on this past week, thank you. To those who have held me up, answered my sobbing phone calls, run over to pick up my kids, read books to my daughters, fed my baby, invited us over for dinner, sent me uplifting and thoughtful messages while juggling three kids and overflowing plates, joined us for hours in the wind and rain at the pumpkin patch, texted us for a last minute hike up Mulholland, Thank You. You know who you are. You are incredible. You are my friend and I am so blessed.
I am not dying. I have friends with cancer, whose children have leukemia, friends praying for kids but battling infertility, friends whose parents are hospitalized, babies sick, serious stuff. I am blessed, I know that. I have a "possible stress fracture as seen by the white areas on this film" (quoted by the radiologist who read my x-ray). I am lucky, it could be worse, and I know that. However, I also know that my mental health hangs on threads some days. I am badly missing my daily dose of endorphins. I don't have time, childcare or energy to pick up another form of exercise. Running was/is my thing. It is hard, not running. For now, I lean.
Christmas break 2003, Kelly went on her annual winter road trip to visit family in Florida. She had done this so many times before. Like so many other times, she invited me along. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, call if you're coming," she told me late Christmas night. We were lying on my couch watching Planes, Trains and Automobiles, just as we did for many Christmases now, with several of my cousins whose parents were still drinking away the holidays. "Okay, maybe I will come. Let me talk to my parents," I told her. I never talked to my parents. By the time December 26th rolled around I was already on to my new training schedule. Focused and all-consumed by running, I knew that a road trip to Florida would surely interfere with my very serious indoor track winter training schedule. Ridiculous, but true.
I never called. I let Kelly drive away with her Uncle, Sister and two cousins to visit extended family in Florida for the next couple of weeks. I would never see her again. We spoke on the phone a few times during her trip, mostly about very important things like the boy she had just started dating. On the drive home, Kelly lost control of the van and lost her life. Everyone else in that van survived, with hellish memories of the accident and scars that would never heal. Kelly died.
Since her death I have built walls around me. I don't need a best friend, I have told myself. I had one and she's dead and I can't do this again. In high school I never had a best friend. In fact, I had very few real friends at all. The streets became my friends, workouts were my pastime and I had no energy or interest in opening myself up to new people. I am not good at small talk, I am terrible at keeping in touch. I don't answer my phone, rarely return calls and have lost most of my college friendships due to simply not keeping in touch. I am blessed to still have a few close high school and college friends, a few. These are people who have not given up on me. They know I'm awful at keeping in touch but they accept that. When celebrations, or tragedies, or big events happen, we are there for each other. We see each other every couple of years and when we meet it feels as if little time has passed. For those of you who have stuck with me, thank you. I love you and I need you.
Friday afternoon hike with five little girls, two baby boys and three mamas. Joy!
No place better to be than here.
Friday afternoon on dirt Mulholland.
This one cracks me up, mostly because this picture is deceiving.
Sometimes pictures don't really capture what was going on.. I swear it wasn't Lord of the Flies up there.
My face hurt from smiling at the end of this day. Thank you!
It's rainy, cold, you have a stress fracture. What do you do?
Head out to Underwood Farms! Best decision ever, seriously.
Full van out to the farm. Four toddlers, 1 baby and 2 mamas.
As a mother, I am finding more and more everyday that I need friends. I need to lean. Raising kids is surely the most challenging task in which I have ever embarked. Teaching children to be kind, respectful, loving, empathetic, well-rounded people is tough. Nearly impossible, in the world as it is today. But we try, we try our best to show our kids how to live and love. Through it all, we need each other. Maybe for the first time in my life, I have really begun to understand the power and importance of friendship.
To all of you whom I have leaned on this past week, thank you. To those who have held me up, answered my sobbing phone calls, run over to pick up my kids, read books to my daughters, fed my baby, invited us over for dinner, sent me uplifting and thoughtful messages while juggling three kids and overflowing plates, joined us for hours in the wind and rain at the pumpkin patch, texted us for a last minute hike up Mulholland, Thank You. You know who you are. You are incredible. You are my friend and I am so blessed.
I am not dying. I have friends with cancer, whose children have leukemia, friends praying for kids but battling infertility, friends whose parents are hospitalized, babies sick, serious stuff. I am blessed, I know that. I have a "possible stress fracture as seen by the white areas on this film" (quoted by the radiologist who read my x-ray). I am lucky, it could be worse, and I know that. However, I also know that my mental health hangs on threads some days. I am badly missing my daily dose of endorphins. I don't have time, childcare or energy to pick up another form of exercise. Running was/is my thing. It is hard, not running. For now, I lean.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Not Running
Right now I am using every ounce of self-control not to run out the door. My left foot is hurting. Most of the time the pain is a subtle, numbing, bruised-feel. I can feel it. The pain is there, as much as I try to ignore it. It's real. After prolonged time on my feet it becomes more alive and I am reminded that, No, I can't run. Admitting that is tough. Not running is even tougher.
It has only been 2 days off and I can feel myself slipping. After sitting during a two hour school board meeting yesterday, my heel felt good. It was almost to the point where the pain was un-noticeable. Maybe I can run tomorrow, I thought. But my better judgment reminds me that I have been through this before and running through it was not the answer.
Unfortunately, stress fractures and stress spots or "reactions" are not new to me. I have had more than my fair share of these. During a formative time in my life, I ran my body down. Quite literally. There was a long spread where I ran doubles - two times per day. My weekly mileage regularly hit the 70-80 range. I was young and invincible. Family, coaches and doctors all warned me of the risks. I didn't care. My body was a machine. Until one day, it broke. The pieces fell apart. I fell apart. I made it through four years of intense running in High School, but by the time I reached college my bones were weak, I was diagnosed with osteopenia, female athlete triad syndrome and hadn't menstruated in years. In my head these further confirmed my identity as a serious runner. Embarrassingly, I was proud.
College was spent in and out of doctors offices, training rooms, ice baths, stationary bikes, crutches, until I finally couldn't take the frustration of not running anymore. Enter cycling. I joined my collegiate cycling team, fell in love with bikes and Alan. Alan and I met through cycling. During these times of frustrations, and injuries and setbacks I am reminded of the silver lining. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that God has a plan for us, however confusing it may seem in the moment. Eight years ago, I was sidelined by a stress fracture, I bought a used road bike off Ebay, began racing it and met the love of my life. What if I never got that stress fracture? Would I have ever met Alan? Who knows, but it's doubtful as we were separated by 50 miles, nearly 10 years and few commonalities. He was living in West LA, studying at USC, working in Malibu and consumed by riding his Moots through canyons I had never heard of. I was in Claremont, studying at Claremont McKenna College, working at a Neuroeconomics lab in Claremont, had no car and rarely left campus.
Where will this injury bring me? I am staying positive and open to possibilities. I know that some good will come of this. I don't know what it will be, but maybe in another 8 years I will look back at this moment as "life-changing."
In the meantime, I am resting (as much as possible with three high-energy little ones), wearing actual running shoes with support and cushion (in hopes they'll make a difference), checking out pilates and yoga classes and other options to bring me inner peace and, of course, enjoying these kids! And, using every last ounce of self-control within me to not run.
It has only been 2 days off and I can feel myself slipping. After sitting during a two hour school board meeting yesterday, my heel felt good. It was almost to the point where the pain was un-noticeable. Maybe I can run tomorrow, I thought. But my better judgment reminds me that I have been through this before and running through it was not the answer.
Unfortunately, stress fractures and stress spots or "reactions" are not new to me. I have had more than my fair share of these. During a formative time in my life, I ran my body down. Quite literally. There was a long spread where I ran doubles - two times per day. My weekly mileage regularly hit the 70-80 range. I was young and invincible. Family, coaches and doctors all warned me of the risks. I didn't care. My body was a machine. Until one day, it broke. The pieces fell apart. I fell apart. I made it through four years of intense running in High School, but by the time I reached college my bones were weak, I was diagnosed with osteopenia, female athlete triad syndrome and hadn't menstruated in years. In my head these further confirmed my identity as a serious runner. Embarrassingly, I was proud.
College was spent in and out of doctors offices, training rooms, ice baths, stationary bikes, crutches, until I finally couldn't take the frustration of not running anymore. Enter cycling. I joined my collegiate cycling team, fell in love with bikes and Alan. Alan and I met through cycling. During these times of frustrations, and injuries and setbacks I am reminded of the silver lining. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that God has a plan for us, however confusing it may seem in the moment. Eight years ago, I was sidelined by a stress fracture, I bought a used road bike off Ebay, began racing it and met the love of my life. What if I never got that stress fracture? Would I have ever met Alan? Who knows, but it's doubtful as we were separated by 50 miles, nearly 10 years and few commonalities. He was living in West LA, studying at USC, working in Malibu and consumed by riding his Moots through canyons I had never heard of. I was in Claremont, studying at Claremont McKenna College, working at a Neuroeconomics lab in Claremont, had no car and rarely left campus.
Where will this injury bring me? I am staying positive and open to possibilities. I know that some good will come of this. I don't know what it will be, but maybe in another 8 years I will look back at this moment as "life-changing."
Montrail mimalist-running shoes.
A big step up in the cushioning department from my FiveFingers.
In the meantime, I am resting (as much as possible with three high-energy little ones), wearing actual running shoes with support and cushion (in hopes they'll make a difference), checking out pilates and yoga classes and other options to bring me inner peace and, of course, enjoying these kids! And, using every last ounce of self-control within me to not run.
Breakfast restaurant downstairs.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Symbiotic
The title of this post was inspired by Diego. As in the children's show Go, Diego, Go. As in "Symbiotic, symbiotic.." sung in a high pitch, catchy tone that has been playing on repeat in my head since watching an episode of Cesia's favorite show with her at 5am this morning. Runner-up post title was "Are you smarter than an 8 month old?"
Isaac typically loves running with me. Long runs, mile repeats, 60-90 minutes in the stroller no problem. No whining, no crying, just babbles away or rests his body. However, today was different. Fifteen minutes into our scheduled 7 mile run he started to squeak, like a broken record. He continued, far from all out crying thank goodness, but enough to warrant some attention. I knew that at any minute he could blow. When you're doing an out-and-back long run with a kid and you reach a certain point, you are all in. All or nothing. Committed to the run. Luckily I was only about 2 miles in, only 15 minutes from home. I paused a few times, reaching into the Chariot to hand him a teething toy, then my watch, then my water bottle, then my running hat, anything just to keep him happy. Whining continued. We were not in stride. I like our running relationship to be symbiotic. Running with my kids is supposed to be fun, for all involved. I won't run to make them miserable, because in turn it just makes us all miserable. Isaac whines and cries so rarely that when he does, I know he truly is unhappy. I don't want to make my sweet baby unhappy.
Plus, my left foot has been bugging me all week. Ever since completing 4x1 mile fast repeats on Monday morning it has been an inconvenience. Luckily no more than that, but something is definitely going on there. I cut back on mileage this week, shortened my two easy runs to 4 miles each instead of 8, took Friday completely off (a big feat as rest days are very hard for me) and even cooled-down a little after Thursday's race, and stretched! Nothing has really helped. As Isaac's pitch increased in the stroller this morning, so did my pain. Both slowly getting worse and worse. I need to run, though, I told myself. I needed the stress-relief and endorphin high that always awaits me at the end of a long run. Last night was rough - up at 11pm with Isaac, then again at 4am with Isaac who woke up Cesia who wouldn't go back to sleep for the day. I managed to get Isaac back in bed until 6am but big sister was up for the day at 4 and crabby, hence the Diego episode and 5am blog post.
My left heel was shouting at me not to run. My head was arguing for the same. Isaac was in agreement. Are you smarter than an 8 month old? I wondered. Little boy clearly knew that something was wrong. We were not in symbiosis and he was not feeling it today. Neither was I. I turned that Chariot around and on our 2 mile jog home I realized that I wasn't touching my left heel to the ground at all. Running barefoot or in minimalist shoes, I have trained myself to land on the ball of my foot. For the past 3 years I have run completely injury-free with perfect running form. Not today. I have been gradually and carefully increasing my mileage and speed, but maybe not quite slowly enough.
I get excited. I get addicted. I need that high and as my fitness improves I need to run more to get it. I miss the days that I could get that feeling from just a 15 minute run. Now it takes at least 45, if not more. Not unlike a drug-addict, my brain builds up a tolerance and I continually need more and more chemical release to be satisfied. I worked for years in a Drug and Addiction research group at UCLA and studied the neuroscience behind addiction. I wrote my Master's Thesis on impulse-control. I understand addiction fairly well, I know what's going on and I feel comfortable self-diagnosing myself. Heck, during my years at UCLA I even helped a few recovering addicts "switch" their addictions from methamphetamine or cocaine to running. The brain can be fooled. Sometimes we just need a high.
Luckily I have a smart little 8 month old. He convinced me to turn around, cut the run short and may have saved me from a stress fracture. We came home, ate a quick lunch and visited the local running store that happened to be hosting a free "Clinic Day" today. I saw a podiatrist and physical therapist who both played around with my heel and diagnosed me with a stress reaction or stress spot. They felt comfortable that it isn't a full-blown stress fracture, but rather a precursor. My body is signaling for me to back down. I know that I must obey. This is the hard part...
Have a great weekend, all. Hope things are looking up for you. I'm off to rest a little before babysitting 22 kids (along with three other Church folk) at a Kids Night Out event at our community church tonight. Send me some patience!
Isaac typically loves running with me. Long runs, mile repeats, 60-90 minutes in the stroller no problem. No whining, no crying, just babbles away or rests his body. However, today was different. Fifteen minutes into our scheduled 7 mile run he started to squeak, like a broken record. He continued, far from all out crying thank goodness, but enough to warrant some attention. I knew that at any minute he could blow. When you're doing an out-and-back long run with a kid and you reach a certain point, you are all in. All or nothing. Committed to the run. Luckily I was only about 2 miles in, only 15 minutes from home. I paused a few times, reaching into the Chariot to hand him a teething toy, then my watch, then my water bottle, then my running hat, anything just to keep him happy. Whining continued. We were not in stride. I like our running relationship to be symbiotic. Running with my kids is supposed to be fun, for all involved. I won't run to make them miserable, because in turn it just makes us all miserable. Isaac whines and cries so rarely that when he does, I know he truly is unhappy. I don't want to make my sweet baby unhappy.
Plus, my left foot has been bugging me all week. Ever since completing 4x1 mile fast repeats on Monday morning it has been an inconvenience. Luckily no more than that, but something is definitely going on there. I cut back on mileage this week, shortened my two easy runs to 4 miles each instead of 8, took Friday completely off (a big feat as rest days are very hard for me) and even cooled-down a little after Thursday's race, and stretched! Nothing has really helped. As Isaac's pitch increased in the stroller this morning, so did my pain. Both slowly getting worse and worse. I need to run, though, I told myself. I needed the stress-relief and endorphin high that always awaits me at the end of a long run. Last night was rough - up at 11pm with Isaac, then again at 4am with Isaac who woke up Cesia who wouldn't go back to sleep for the day. I managed to get Isaac back in bed until 6am but big sister was up for the day at 4 and crabby, hence the Diego episode and 5am blog post.
Finishing up this morning's blog post
with my little guy.
My left heel was shouting at me not to run. My head was arguing for the same. Isaac was in agreement. Are you smarter than an 8 month old? I wondered. Little boy clearly knew that something was wrong. We were not in symbiosis and he was not feeling it today. Neither was I. I turned that Chariot around and on our 2 mile jog home I realized that I wasn't touching my left heel to the ground at all. Running barefoot or in minimalist shoes, I have trained myself to land on the ball of my foot. For the past 3 years I have run completely injury-free with perfect running form. Not today. I have been gradually and carefully increasing my mileage and speed, but maybe not quite slowly enough.
I get excited. I get addicted. I need that high and as my fitness improves I need to run more to get it. I miss the days that I could get that feeling from just a 15 minute run. Now it takes at least 45, if not more. Not unlike a drug-addict, my brain builds up a tolerance and I continually need more and more chemical release to be satisfied. I worked for years in a Drug and Addiction research group at UCLA and studied the neuroscience behind addiction. I wrote my Master's Thesis on impulse-control. I understand addiction fairly well, I know what's going on and I feel comfortable self-diagnosing myself. Heck, during my years at UCLA I even helped a few recovering addicts "switch" their addictions from methamphetamine or cocaine to running. The brain can be fooled. Sometimes we just need a high.
Luckily I have a smart little 8 month old. He convinced me to turn around, cut the run short and may have saved me from a stress fracture. We came home, ate a quick lunch and visited the local running store that happened to be hosting a free "Clinic Day" today. I saw a podiatrist and physical therapist who both played around with my heel and diagnosed me with a stress reaction or stress spot. They felt comfortable that it isn't a full-blown stress fracture, but rather a precursor. My body is signaling for me to back down. I know that I must obey. This is the hard part...
Have a great weekend, all. Hope things are looking up for you. I'm off to rest a little before babysitting 22 kids (along with three other Church folk) at a Kids Night Out event at our community church tonight. Send me some patience!
Early morning playtime.
Effort
Thursday night was a first for our family. It was the first time Alan and I ever raced together. We returned to Mt. Crags for the third week in a row to have a stab at the Malibu Trail Series 5K. The last two weeks were a blast. I never got a chance to write about last Thursday night's race -- due to a combination of sleep deprivation, family visiting and trying to keep up with the moment -- but it was equally as great as the first one. I was fortunate to finish first for the women again and better my time by about 40 seconds.
Last night was not unlike the other two races: same course, many of the same faces, same deer sauntering through the streets. Yet, it was very different. Different in that way that you can't pinpoint or verbalize, but simply feel. I got to run with a partner last night. With Alan. I realized this morning that it was our first running race together. I suppose that was the feeling - the feeling of firsts. Sometimes it's hard to have "firsts" when you have been together with someone for 8 years. But when you do, you better recognize them and celebrate them, because what is life without some novelty? Last night we celebrated with 1st in the team category - "Team Jacobsen" and 3rd and 4th overall with identical times. Not a bad date night.
My parents were in town and so they eagerly accepted babysitting duty. It is rare that I give up any time with Isaac and they were excited to have some alone time with the little guy, plus watch the girls run around like crazy on the obstacle course and playgrounds.
Like I said, Alan and I finished with identical times. In the week prior to the race we had joked a lot about whom was going to beat whom. I was sure Alan would finish ahead of me, yet he seemed nervous that he wouldn't be able to keep up. When registering, the new trail runners I had befriended through this trail series were poking fun and asked, "So are you going to chick him?"
In all honesty we weren't really sure how it would play out. The thing is, I train hard, I do mile repeats, long runs and I'm out there 6 days/week running my butt off. I take running seriously, as I do with most other things. Why waste your time and not try your best, right? Of course I do it all for fun but still, I'm intense. Alan runs about 1 day/week after work. His hours in the office and lab are long enough already and our sleep is little with three kids (last night they woke up 5 times combined...5 times.. you can't make this stuff up) so he has very little time for anything during the week but tries to squeeze in a 20 minute run after work occasionally. Saturdays and Sundays he chooses the bike, in between fatherly duties. Yet, his fitness is incredible. I am continually impressed by this man I married and his multi-faceted talents. Thursday night he pushed me, running side-by-side and encouraging me to stay with him on the climbs. We did it, together.
Thursday night's race felt hard. Again. Each of the past two weeks on the trail I have been convinced that my time is going to be much slower than the previous one. This hurts, I'm thinking, as I pull my body uphill. Then the questions begin to surface. Why am I doing this? Why do we do this? Why do we put ourselves through such pain? For what? I don't have to run hard, I don't have to push myself, yet I do. Week after week. It's a competition, with myself, against myself, if not anyone else. The second place woman has not been within sight for the past couple of weeks. I know that I can let up, run a little easier yet still finish first for the girls. Something won't let me. That little voice in my head won't let me. I think it has to do with the effort involved in getting us to the race. It is one thing when you're doing this all alone. It is another all together when you have to organize your entire day around making it to a 3.1 mile race with your three kids in tow. The amount of prep work is laughable -- packing up extra clothes and PJ's, cooking and wrapping up snacks, dinner and every other little thing x 3 that someone might need (like, really need, or a Cesia throw down, toddler tantrum occurs) during our afternoon at gymnastics then straight to the race and then straight to bed.
Then comes actually getting out the door and into the car. Last Thursday we left our front door at 2:00pm to load into the minivan. Oh, we're going to be so early to gymnastics, I thought. We pulled out of the driveway at 2:30pm. No joke. It took 30 minutes to get from the door out of the driveway. Mysteriously we lost 30 minutes of our life loading into that van. It's like a trap, which is why I'm so crazy about that triple jogger for short commutes. So when I'm suffering through mile #2, begging my legs to keep up their pace, I am reminded of the fact that we are here, that we made it here and I had better appreciate it. I had better take full advantage of it and run my heart out. Life is not to be wasted.
What motivates you when you are out there pushing hard? Where do you get your extra motivation? How do you get out the door? Because really, that is the hardest part. But life is worth the extra effort.
Last night was not unlike the other two races: same course, many of the same faces, same deer sauntering through the streets. Yet, it was very different. Different in that way that you can't pinpoint or verbalize, but simply feel. I got to run with a partner last night. With Alan. I realized this morning that it was our first running race together. I suppose that was the feeling - the feeling of firsts. Sometimes it's hard to have "firsts" when you have been together with someone for 8 years. But when you do, you better recognize them and celebrate them, because what is life without some novelty? Last night we celebrated with 1st in the team category - "Team Jacobsen" and 3rd and 4th overall with identical times. Not a bad date night.
 |
| Post-race dancing and running around! |
Like I said, Alan and I finished with identical times. In the week prior to the race we had joked a lot about whom was going to beat whom. I was sure Alan would finish ahead of me, yet he seemed nervous that he wouldn't be able to keep up. When registering, the new trail runners I had befriended through this trail series were poking fun and asked, "So are you going to chick him?"
In all honesty we weren't really sure how it would play out. The thing is, I train hard, I do mile repeats, long runs and I'm out there 6 days/week running my butt off. I take running seriously, as I do with most other things. Why waste your time and not try your best, right? Of course I do it all for fun but still, I'm intense. Alan runs about 1 day/week after work. His hours in the office and lab are long enough already and our sleep is little with three kids (last night they woke up 5 times combined...5 times.. you can't make this stuff up) so he has very little time for anything during the week but tries to squeeze in a 20 minute run after work occasionally. Saturdays and Sundays he chooses the bike, in between fatherly duties. Yet, his fitness is incredible. I am continually impressed by this man I married and his multi-faceted talents. Thursday night he pushed me, running side-by-side and encouraging me to stay with him on the climbs. We did it, together.
Thursday night's race felt hard. Again. Each of the past two weeks on the trail I have been convinced that my time is going to be much slower than the previous one. This hurts, I'm thinking, as I pull my body uphill. Then the questions begin to surface. Why am I doing this? Why do we do this? Why do we put ourselves through such pain? For what? I don't have to run hard, I don't have to push myself, yet I do. Week after week. It's a competition, with myself, against myself, if not anyone else. The second place woman has not been within sight for the past couple of weeks. I know that I can let up, run a little easier yet still finish first for the girls. Something won't let me. That little voice in my head won't let me. I think it has to do with the effort involved in getting us to the race. It is one thing when you're doing this all alone. It is another all together when you have to organize your entire day around making it to a 3.1 mile race with your three kids in tow. The amount of prep work is laughable -- packing up extra clothes and PJ's, cooking and wrapping up snacks, dinner and every other little thing x 3 that someone might need (like, really need, or a Cesia throw down, toddler tantrum occurs) during our afternoon at gymnastics then straight to the race and then straight to bed.
Notice the arched back, head thrown up in the air?
Apparently I wasn't pushing Dictator Cesia high enough.
Then comes actually getting out the door and into the car. Last Thursday we left our front door at 2:00pm to load into the minivan. Oh, we're going to be so early to gymnastics, I thought. We pulled out of the driveway at 2:30pm. No joke. It took 30 minutes to get from the door out of the driveway. Mysteriously we lost 30 minutes of our life loading into that van. It's like a trap, which is why I'm so crazy about that triple jogger for short commutes. So when I'm suffering through mile #2, begging my legs to keep up their pace, I am reminded of the fact that we are here, that we made it here and I had better appreciate it. I had better take full advantage of it and run my heart out. Life is not to be wasted.
What motivates you when you are out there pushing hard? Where do you get your extra motivation? How do you get out the door? Because really, that is the hardest part. But life is worth the extra effort.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Weekends with Kids
Weekends with kids are very different from weekends pre-kids. No partying, no sleeping in, no "Off the clock, see you Monday!" When you are a stay at home mom (or dad), there is little difference between say, a Tuesday, and a Saturday. And if you're a dad who works Monday-Friday, well you just pick up your second job as full-time DAD on Saturdays and Sundays. Weekends no longer mean "breaks." That's because kids never quite get the memo that it's Saturday morning and they are allowed to sleep in or take the day off. We're lucky if we hear the first creaks of tiny tip-toes down the wood hallway or first babbles from a certain little boy's room after 5am. There are many mornings that Cesia is still up before 5:00, and if she decides to sleep in then Isaac picks up the morning shift. He's selfless like that. I swear kids plan these things. It doesn't help that sunrise is after 6:00. We have many dark, early mornings here. But we try to make the best of them. And on those days when we just aren't quite ready to start the day, we are human, and we do turn on Dora and sleep on the couch cuddled up beside our alert toddlers.
When I was a new mother four years ago and just had Adara, I booked our weekends full. All week I anxiously awaited Alan's extra help and courage to get me out the door and into the world. As I mentioned before, she was a colicky baby. The kind that screamed all day, no matter what we did. It was embarrassing, I thought, to take her out in public. Everyone had their opinions. Everyone else seemed to know much better than her own mother, what exactly was her problem. "Oh, she must be cold. You need to dress her warmer," said the old lady in Target. "That's what you get for taking her out at naptime" said the middle-aged guy in Trader Joe's. I always just smiled back, too exhausted and frustrated to do anything more. The truth was that she screamed everywhere. Looking back I wish I had the confidence to know that it wasn't my fault, she wasn't screaming because I wasn't a good mother, but instead I let those comments stir in my head and prevent me from making the next trek out.
Four years later, I don't care what the random person down aisle #5 thinks about my 2 year old screaming repeatedly that she wants to eat "something chocolatEY RIGHT NOW!" or my four year old crying in the Target check-out because she really, really, really wants the cheap plastic princess We get out now. I try to get all our errands, shopping, dry-cleaning, car-washing trips done during the week as much as possible so that weekends can be free. We try our best to keep weekends relaxed, laid-back and calendar cleared. This is our typical Saturday "to-do" list:
1. Bike ride for Alan,
2. Long run for me
3. Adventure time for Alan and the girls
4. Alone time for Isaac and me (so that I can catch up on bills, paperwork, etc. while he naps)
5. Family dinner (ideally in the yard if the weather is nice, which it is about 350 days of the year here in Southern California)
6. Kids asleep by 7, movie on the couch and in bed by 9:30 for the adults
Last Saturday was good. We managed to get all that done and more. Alan spontaneously decided at 8:30am that he would take the girls to the California Science Center to see the Endeavor Space shuttle. I bought the tickets online, printed them out, threw some clothes on the girls, brushed their hair and teeth and they were off for the day by 9:00. Isaac was strapped into our gracious neighbor's Bob and ready for a good nap while I completed my 10-mile long run for the week. He obliged. Eyes were closed tight by the time we reached the bottom of our hill and I didn't hear a peep for the next 90 minutes. I ran in silence. Crisp, fall-morning, a handful of mountain bikers and hikers and nothing to do but run and glance down at my sleeping baby - bliss.
I can't remember what I thought about while running. It was one of those beautiful long runs where you just enjoy the moment and let thoughts pass in and out, never ruminating over specific ones for any given length of time. The final two miles, though, I thought about lunch. Long runs especially make me hungry. Still nursing 5-6x/day on top of running 30-40 miles/week makes for one hungry mama. I considered taking Isaac out to brunch - just a quiet, relaxing date with my little boy. But he is in the crazy-messy eater stage where he goes straight to the tub after each meal, I was covered in dust, dirt and sweat and would have to shower before sitting down in public. And again.. I was hungry.
We enjoyed a nice brunch at home instead. Just the two of us. Scrambled eggs, spinach and tortilla for me (non-vegan, I know, as I was craving eggs that Alan bought from the local farm stand this morning and so I ate eggs) and blended quinoa and veggie puree for the little man. I enjoyed the simplicity of eating in peace with Isaac. No bathroom breaks for the girls, no getting up ten times to fetch someone more water or food or silverware or... We just sat and ate until we were full, drank some warm pumpkin rooibos tea and listened to Tom Waits on the iPod. The music of Tom Waits is my quintessential Fall music. Low tones, deep throaty lyrics, these sing out dark, shorter days and quiet restful afternoons.
Lunch was followed by a nap, nap was followed by some errands. Fun errands though, the type where you buy your friend a birthday gift from Lululemon and peruse the aisles of Whole Foods for the perfect Saturday night family dinner. Then we were back home enjoying the late-afternoon on the couch with the sisters who returned happy and tired from their outing with daddy, while Alan got in his mountain time on the bike.
Our Saturday in a nutshell. Sunday is always a little busier as the girls attend weekly Sunday school and I teach in the older kids classroom there, but we still do our best to preserve that sacred Saturday-Sunday family time. How do you like to spend your weekends? Do you like to get out and be adventurous or hide away and relax?
Party on, dude! (Cesia's morning hair)
When I was a new mother four years ago and just had Adara, I booked our weekends full. All week I anxiously awaited Alan's extra help and courage to get me out the door and into the world. As I mentioned before, she was a colicky baby. The kind that screamed all day, no matter what we did. It was embarrassing, I thought, to take her out in public. Everyone had their opinions. Everyone else seemed to know much better than her own mother, what exactly was her problem. "Oh, she must be cold. You need to dress her warmer," said the old lady in Target. "That's what you get for taking her out at naptime" said the middle-aged guy in Trader Joe's. I always just smiled back, too exhausted and frustrated to do anything more. The truth was that she screamed everywhere. Looking back I wish I had the confidence to know that it wasn't my fault, she wasn't screaming because I wasn't a good mother, but instead I let those comments stir in my head and prevent me from making the next trek out.
Four years later, I don't care what the random person down aisle #5 thinks about my 2 year old screaming repeatedly that she wants to eat "something chocolatEY RIGHT NOW!" or my four year old crying in the Target check-out because she really, really, really wants the cheap plastic princess We get out now. I try to get all our errands, shopping, dry-cleaning, car-washing trips done during the week as much as possible so that weekends can be free. We try our best to keep weekends relaxed, laid-back and calendar cleared. This is our typical Saturday "to-do" list:
1. Bike ride for Alan,
2. Long run for me
3. Adventure time for Alan and the girls
4. Alone time for Isaac and me (so that I can catch up on bills, paperwork, etc. while he naps)
5. Family dinner (ideally in the yard if the weather is nice, which it is about 350 days of the year here in Southern California)
6. Kids asleep by 7, movie on the couch and in bed by 9:30 for the adults
Last Saturday was good. We managed to get all that done and more. Alan spontaneously decided at 8:30am that he would take the girls to the California Science Center to see the Endeavor Space shuttle. I bought the tickets online, printed them out, threw some clothes on the girls, brushed their hair and teeth and they were off for the day by 9:00. Isaac was strapped into our gracious neighbor's Bob and ready for a good nap while I completed my 10-mile long run for the week. He obliged. Eyes were closed tight by the time we reached the bottom of our hill and I didn't hear a peep for the next 90 minutes. I ran in silence. Crisp, fall-morning, a handful of mountain bikers and hikers and nothing to do but run and glance down at my sleeping baby - bliss.
Back home and well-rested after our 10 miles.
I can't remember what I thought about while running. It was one of those beautiful long runs where you just enjoy the moment and let thoughts pass in and out, never ruminating over specific ones for any given length of time. The final two miles, though, I thought about lunch. Long runs especially make me hungry. Still nursing 5-6x/day on top of running 30-40 miles/week makes for one hungry mama. I considered taking Isaac out to brunch - just a quiet, relaxing date with my little boy. But he is in the crazy-messy eater stage where he goes straight to the tub after each meal, I was covered in dust, dirt and sweat and would have to shower before sitting down in public. And again.. I was hungry.
Dirty, tired and hungry. But happy!
We enjoyed a nice brunch at home instead. Just the two of us. Scrambled eggs, spinach and tortilla for me (non-vegan, I know, as I was craving eggs that Alan bought from the local farm stand this morning and so I ate eggs) and blended quinoa and veggie puree for the little man. I enjoyed the simplicity of eating in peace with Isaac. No bathroom breaks for the girls, no getting up ten times to fetch someone more water or food or silverware or... We just sat and ate until we were full, drank some warm pumpkin rooibos tea and listened to Tom Waits on the iPod. The music of Tom Waits is my quintessential Fall music. Low tones, deep throaty lyrics, these sing out dark, shorter days and quiet restful afternoons.
My cute Saturday date.
Lunch was followed by a nap, nap was followed by some errands. Fun errands though, the type where you buy your friend a birthday gift from Lululemon and peruse the aisles of Whole Foods for the perfect Saturday night family dinner. Then we were back home enjoying the late-afternoon on the couch with the sisters who returned happy and tired from their outing with daddy, while Alan got in his mountain time on the bike.
Our Saturday in a nutshell. Sunday is always a little busier as the girls attend weekly Sunday school and I teach in the older kids classroom there, but we still do our best to preserve that sacred Saturday-Sunday family time. How do you like to spend your weekends? Do you like to get out and be adventurous or hide away and relax?
A glimpse of our Sunday - cupcakes and friends. Not a bad way to end the week(end).
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