Don't forget to follow me over at my new site: www.larunningmama.com
I launched this new site a few weeks ago and have been enjoying creating, designing and writing over here in what should be a more reader-friendly capacity.
Thanks!
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Saturday, November 1, 2014
New Site Launched!
It is with great excitement that I announce my new baby!
This project began on 8/27/13 when I wrote my very first blog entry here. It has been through this blog that I have re-ignited my passion for writing, have discovered inner beauty and purpose for myself and have loved sharing my world with you. There have been times I've written frequently and months that have passed with nary an entry. When I skip a day -- or days -- of running, I feel just blah. I miss out on that burst of endorphins and, more importantly, on the feeling that I took time to do something for myself. So it has become with writing. I will challenge myself to write more frequently, 1-2x/week or when I feel the need, because I have found that I need it.
In an effort to broaden the spectrum, increase my readership and turn my baby blog into something bigger and wider-reaching, I decided last weekend that I would purchase a domain and build my own website. Having precisely zero skill or previous experience with this type of venture, I have spent every free moment (i.e., during nap time, after putting the kids to bed and during the middle of the night) to get this up and running. It will be a work in progress and a journey — as is life and I am loving every minute of it. Lots more to come in the next few weeks as I continue editing and developing my site. Come along for the run and enjoy! As always, thanks for reading and sharing and making this all possible. : )
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| Very first pregnancy picture ever taken. Adara inside, 2008. |
Just kidding, baby factory has been closed here, but I am thrilled to launch my new (and first real) website: http://www.larunningmama.com
This project began on 8/27/13 when I wrote my very first blog entry here. It has been through this blog that I have re-ignited my passion for writing, have discovered inner beauty and purpose for myself and have loved sharing my world with you. There have been times I've written frequently and months that have passed with nary an entry. When I skip a day -- or days -- of running, I feel just blah. I miss out on that burst of endorphins and, more importantly, on the feeling that I took time to do something for myself. So it has become with writing. I will challenge myself to write more frequently, 1-2x/week or when I feel the need, because I have found that I need it.
In an effort to broaden the spectrum, increase my readership and turn my baby blog into something bigger and wider-reaching, I decided last weekend that I would purchase a domain and build my own website. Having precisely zero skill or previous experience with this type of venture, I have spent every free moment (i.e., during nap time, after putting the kids to bed and during the middle of the night) to get this up and running. It will be a work in progress and a journey — as is life and I am loving every minute of it. Lots more to come in the next few weeks as I continue editing and developing my site. Come along for the run and enjoy! As always, thanks for reading and sharing and making this all possible. : )
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Stress Management
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| StoryPeople, by Brian Andrews. |
Last weekend in Albuquerque, I stopped in Nomades to look for a wedding card. It is the type of store, where upon entering, you say to yourself, "I love everything here." I have always had a thing for good cards. Cards are simple and so often overlooked, a prelude to the gift attached, but that is part of their beauty. So often the build-up in life is better than the final moment itself; the journey more meaningful than the destination. And so I love me a good card. When I find a good card shop, like Nomades, I spend hours sifting through each and every one, reading their stories, enjoying their pictures and stockpiling them for future use, when the moment is just right and I find the perfect recipient. This one pictured above was chosen last weekend.
Something within this card's story touched me.
"I can imagine it working out perfectly, I said.
I can't she said.
& I said no wonder
you're so stressed."
After reflection, I am still unsure which character fits me more properly. Which fits you? Are you the eternal optimist, imagining everything working out perfectly or do you relate more closely to the one who simply can't imagine it? How sad, I think.
I would love to say I am the optimist and in truth, sometimes I am. When it comes to my health, my running, racing, personal intentions and goals, I can and do imagine everything working out perfectly. Visualization is powerful, as is positive thinking and I have always been a strong believer that when you prepare well, you will not be disappointed. Perhaps it is a matter of control. I can imagine everything working out perfectly for my own self because I am in control (or at least have some sense of control) of my own life, my own destiny.
However, when it comes to family life and being the primary caretaker, home organizer and keeper of the fort -- being a mother -- I too often get bogged down with negative thoughts. My husband calls me out on it, labeling me a pessimist. This can really push my buttons, simply because I do not want to be a pessimist. I don't want to always imagine the worst. I want to imagine everything working out perfectly. Yet sometimes, it is so hard. "I am a realist," I say, defensively. I am simply preparing for the worst in an attempt to stay two steps ahead, to avoid disastrous situations. It makes sense in my own head and maybe it even serves me well sometimes to behave in such a manner. But is that really how I want to live my life? Do I want to spend my days worrying if the kids will be crabby after our hike tonight, if Cesia is going to have a melt-down, if Isaac will wake up crying during the night? Will that serve me?
You miss out on the best things in life when you are afraid to risk failure. Prepare for success, but don't let the possibility of failure (or meltdowns, tantrums, whining and screaming) prevent you from taking a risk and living fully. Nearly all of my favorite memories in life, especially in the past 5 years of being a mother, have been those moments when I threw caution aside, lived in the moment and made spontaneous but fun decisions.
The day I discovered Topanga State Beach, I was driving along PCH with my sister and Adara in tow, on our way home from a late pregnancy midwife appointment for soon-to-arrive-Cesia. Adara wanted to go to the beach. I had no lunch, snacks, extra diapers, swimsuits or any other typical beach day essentials on hand. We considered a quick stop at Leo Carrillo but missed the turn, then couldn't find parking safely at the next with cars zooming past us. Suddenly I noticed a sign: "Topanga State Beach." A quick U-turn, an open spot on the street and we were about to discover our new haven.
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| Adara and her tree. |
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| Adara digging for Cesia at Topanga State Beach. The mounds of sand resembled my growing belly and she said, "Come out and play, Cesia!" as she dug through the sand. |
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| Cesia at 3 days old, asleep on the beach. |
Last October, within minutes after I was diagnosed with a calcaneous stress fracture and before I could even let the depression sink in, a rare Fall storm turned our Southern California sky gray and rain began to fall. What a day, I thought. Seconds later my phone started buzzing. I drove on. It buzzed again and again. Finally, I pulled over to see what was the matter. A few of my most adventurous, inspiring, always-up-for-an-adventure friends had texted me with an impromptu invite to join them at the Farm for the Fall Festival of all festivals. I turned the car around, made a pit stop to pick up the girls early from preschool, loaded up on granola bars and other snacks we just so happened to have in the car, and had one of the most memorable, fun days out in the rain running through fields of pumpkins.
When we don't give ourselves the the time to worry about things not working out perfectly, then we don't give stress a chance to sink in and rule (ruin?) our day. I know it's hard to live freely all the time, especially if you lean more to Type A personality as do I, but that doesn't mean it is not worth the effort. Sometimes, it takes work to be happy.
Now, in those moments when I am debating canceling on a mid-day beach trip or bailing on a hiking adventure with friends, or whatever it is that is beginning to stress me out with all the planning, preparing, packing and then clean-up to follow (I mean, seriously, who knew it took so much effort with kids just to spend an hour at the beach?!), I stop and ask myself, "Twenty years from now, will you remember making PB&J's, loading up the cooler, stuffing the diaper bag, de-sanding the mini-van post-trip? Or will you remember the look in her eye when she saw her first octopus, when he ran through the flock of seagulls, when they pressed their sticky, sandy bodies against you and said, "This was the best day ever!" (followed by whining and fighting on the car-ride home, but that is how it goes)?
Start imagining it working out perfectly, and just maybe, it will!
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| I remember nothing but that smile from a favorite beach moment. 2011. |
Monday, October 27, 2014
Four R's and A Weekend Away
We all need breaks -- vacations for
rejuvenation and inspiration -- to refresh our minds, spirits and bodies.
Employers are legally mandated to give their employees two-weeks of vacation in
the US. Other countries are afforded even better luck. Full time mothers may be the only group of working class
citizens who do not receive vacation time. Heck, we don’t even get sick time,
or daily “breaks,” or pay or compensation, for that matter, other than those
laughs and smiles that light up our days and keep us working our very hardest. As full-time mothers, we are our own bosses and so we must demand vacation time for ourselves, if we are
ever to be granted such.
I am not
good at taking “time off.” I never have been. My husband is not any better – he
regularly accrues 3 months of vacation time only to be paid out at ½ salary
because he can’t find the time to actually take a break. This weekend we used 3
days of saved up vacation time and man, was it needed. We were both so deeply
immersed in the busy-ness of everyday life that we didn’t even realize how
badly we needed a little break.
A friend said recently, “It is
important to date your husband." Those words resonated within me. Monotony
can set it especially when you have been together for 9 years as have we and
are in the middle of raising three little ones. Many days are simply spent trying to keep up. I feel lucky to say that our marriage is thriving and wonderful and
we haven’t personally felt those effects of monotony. Perhaps we have been saved by the constant changes of births and family additions and kids keeping us young in spirit. However, we do still need to “date each
other.”
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| Albuquerque, NM. I won't date us but rather let you guess the year. Tip: it was back in our "dating years." |
And so this weekend offered the
perfect opportunity with my husband's childhood friend getting married in
Durango, Colorado. Initially he planned to go alone, with the trip being too
complicated and remote to drag three kids along for the ride. A phone
conversation with my father and my mother’s ensuing willingness to babysit for
the weekend convinced me to take 3 days off from full time Mama duties and
enjoy a little alone time with my first love.
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| The happy couple whom we celebrated this weekend, pictured at Billy Goat's in Chicago lucky 7 years ago. |
Thursday night we boarded a plane
to Albuquerque, stayed at his family’s home before making the drive up to
Durango and had a weekend with the perfect combination of four R’s:
1.
Rest— Remembering what sleeping in until 7am
felt like and waking up on your own terms rather than a child climbing atop
your head, peeling back your eyes saying “Mama, it’s morning time!” despite any
sign of sunlight.
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| Early-morning baby holding. Just one pic of many, many moments over the years. |
2.
Running – Slow, easy, pleasurable recovery
running through Fall foliage and quiet mountainous trails with Alan and an
awesome old college friend and fellow cross country teammate, Katie, who just
so happens to now be a tenure-track professor at Fort Lewis College in Durango.
It’s a small world. By coincidence she just happened to qualify for Boston 2016 in the St. George Marathon in Utah 2 weeks before my BQ marathon. We were both recovering and running together post-marathon felt glorious.
3.
Reunion – Rekindling old friendships. Alan and I are
introverts by nature and not the best at keeping in touch. With that
combination, years regularly pass with no contact or effort on our part to
maintain friendships, despite the love and nostalgia we have for these people
we consider members of our second-families. This weekend afforded us the opportunity to
rehash old memories and replay the good ol’ days whether it be over beer at a
friend’s wedding or on the Colorado Trail testing our legs and lungs. To each
of the friends we were blessed to have spent time with this weekend – Thank you! It meant a lot to us and I sincerely hope we don’t see as many years pass
before we reunite again.
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| We were so lucky to see this little girl (pictured here as the only child at our wedding) who is not so little anymore!
4. Reflection – It can become so easy to get sucked
into our own little lives that we fail to take the time to reflect and plan; to
think ahead and beyond. The weekend away afforded me hours of writing,
reflection and planning for bigger and exciting things ahead. More to come
soon, but I am definitely feeling inspired, enlivened and energized to tackle
big new exciting projects while simultaneously giving back to this beautiful
world!
As we returned home and settle back into our everyday lives, the
challenge now is to try to keep this spirit alive and find the time regularly
for reflection and mandated breaks. Advice and tips are welcome!
How do you observe vacation time or do you? Do you remember to date your husband or wife? Do you carve
out time for yourself for reflection, rest and reunion? I won’t ask about balancing running because luckily I have that figured out by now – the rest, not so much.
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Friday, October 24, 2014
Faith
"Running, like Wetmore said once, is like getting up every morning and shooting yourself. You know that you are going to push yourself through something really painful, but you also know how much strength and speed are going to come with it. The passion of the runner is to force forgetfullness on that pain and embrace that benefits that will without fail make you a better person." -- From Adam Batliner's Diary in Running with the Buffaloes
My stomach was full of knots and my head clouded with doubts. In less than 24 hours I would run my premier marathon and the stakes were high (in my mind). If it went poorly, it could be my last. If my foot did not hold up, I may not finish. The mystique of the marathon terrified me. In truth, it still does and I think it always will, but that is the magic of the marathon.
The marathon is an odd distance: 26.2 miles. It is the only race in which I would toe the line never having previously run that length. Most experts (if not all) consider 26.2 miles too demanding on the body to be run often. You never reach the full distance in training, for it is too taxing on the body to recover fully in time. My training plan called for 3 20-mile runs but even these were to be run at an "easy" pace. I had never run more than 12 miles at my marathon pace and so as confident as I tried to remain, my mind was questioning. I really had no way of knowing what speed my legs could carry me for 26.2 miles. That is all part of what I consider the Marathon Mystique. That is the challenge after all, to push yourself beyond what you have ever done, to test the limits, to see what you can do. For me, that is what life is all about. Staying within the lines, avoiding suffering, sitting comfortably within our own limits never teaches you anything. You grow through suffering. It is only when we can push through new boundaries that we truly see how powerful we are -- as runners, as women, as mothers, as humans.
I stood there Sunday morning, October 12, 2014, amidst 47,000 fellow runners, among half of whom were about to run the furthest distance in their life. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and held onto my Faith -- faith in my training, faith in myself, faith in a higher being and a higher purpose, knowing that months and years of waiting for this moment possessed great meaning and that it was all about to be tested and discovered. So is life. As we stand on the line of some of the biggest moments of our lives, whether it be our wedding day and committing to a life-time with a partner or taking our final deep breath before pushing out our first born, we are full of a sea of doubt, knowing that the ensuing moments will forever change our lives. All we can do is have faith and trust that things will work out just the way they were meant to be.
Sunday was surreal. I completed Chicago in 3:25.00. Exactly. On the dot. That is faith and execution in its highest and most etherreal form. When I walked up to the Nike+ table at the exhibit to join a pacing team Saturday late afternoon, a friendly volunteer asked me what time I would like to run.
"Hmm, well, maybe 3:20 or 3:25, I guess," I responded with uncertainty. Again I doubted myself, not really sure what time I was capable of running. Choosing a final marathon time felt like a shot in the dark.
"We don't have a 3:20 pace team, but we do have 3:25," she responded, "I can sign you up for that."
"Sure, 3:25," I said, but not feeling quite so sure.
The next morning I stomached a banana, sipped some water and rubbed a damp rag over a 7:49/mile pace temporary tattoo. If I stuck with that pace I would finish in 3:25. Exactly. 26.2 miles lay ahead of me and only time would tell.
One week later and I sit here still clouded by the Marathon Mystique. Chicago captivated me, carried me and brought me one of the very best experiences of my life. In famous running biography, Running with the Buffaloes, Adam Batliner wrote in his diary:
"These are some of the greatest moments of our lives. We may not see it yet, we may not even know it, but I think that we will look back as withered elderly men upon those times as some of the most profound of our lives. And if I don't, thats even better, because it would take a hell of a life to cloud over the shining, glistening days of collegiate cross country."
It will take a hell of a life to cloud over my marathon experience in Chicago. These are the days and these are some of the greatest moments in our lives, no matter how often we forget to remind ourselves.
What will you remember as you look back as withered elderly old folks? Will your life be highlighted by those challenges, those moments of suffering with meaning and will you be able to wake up and do it all again, with faith?
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| Waking up the next morning, coffee and baby boy at my side. |
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Fall Nostalgia
'Oh, the moon was gold, her hair like wind…
Take my hand, I'm standing right here,
You gotta hold on.
Fall and nostalgia walk hand in hand in my life. Just a taste of the seasons changing along with the leaves, cooler weather, sweater-adorned children and the memories start pouring out. There is something about Fall that draws out every memory for me stemming deep back into my early childhood. Football in the yard, the crunch of red maple leaves as my father pretend-tackles me, my sister's voice echoing off the house, the feel of slimy pumpkin seeds slipping through my fingers, the smell of my mother's pumpkin roll baking in the oven, chili cooking on the stove.
I sit here, sipping a warm cup of tea, listening to Pandora. I smell my neighbor's fireplace and my eyes fill with tears. I cry over Tom Waits' Hold On. Instantly, I wish I was back home. Desperately. But not home as in here -- with my own three sleeping children. I see myself back home in Chicago, 12 years old, in my childhood home, cuddled in a blanket on my parent's oversized plush couch beside my father, watching TV of some sort, football invariably. The song takes me back and I wonder, What will they remember? What will they hold onto? When it's all over, when they've grown and moved out, when they are sitting in their own house late at night listening to their own music, what will bring them back?
Will it be bluegrass or folk? Will Tom Waits resonate deep within them despite their best attempt to stay clear of that smoky, deep voice? Will music touch him? Will Bon Iver's Skinny Love bring a smile deep within and dry her tears just as it did in her very first months of life?
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| Adara and Daddy, listening to Skinny Love on repeat. |
Where will they find their own nostalgia? Will it come from the coyotes howling in the distance? Will the mountains call to them as they do to me?
Will they seek out the ocean to calm their soul?
Will they find excitement in the city lights?
Or will the desert sun radiate within?
What memories am I leaving them? Will they look back and remember the feel of freedom as they glided over hilly trails on our sunset hikes? Will they remember being crabby and hungry afterwards or will they find comfort in a microwaveable vegan corn dog, a memory of their childhood past? Will he remember the wonder and awe he experienced as he climbed that mountainous rock for the very first time, opening up views of the entire valley and beyond?
Will new adventures excite him? Will long distance runs inspire and simultaneously remind her of the years she spent bouncing up and down, up and down, until sleep overtook her in the jogging stroller of her little girl days?
Will she run with her own stroller one day?
Will he tiptoe in the quiet of the night just to see them sleep?
Will she take pictures obsessively, trying her very best to capture the magic of the moment.. trying to savor and remember it all?
Will he remember how loved he was? How he changed our lives in the most beautiful of ways? How he was made for us and completed us.
Will they know we grew up together.. that they taught us far more than we could ever teach them ourselves and that one day their own children will do the same for them.
Let's make our children's memories worth remembering. Let's make their nostalgia beautiful. What will they hold onto?
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
What Running Chicago Means to Me...
In just 4 days, I will run my very first marathon. Some people train for a marathon for 4 months, some for 4 weeks. I have been preparing for this day for the past 15 years of my life. Ever since my very first summer cross country practice, I knew I would run a marathon. I fell for long distance running. A shy, skinny, boney-kneed girl looking for her place in this world, I found it running through grassy fields and empty early morning cul-de-sacs. Before the trash trucks headed out for pick-ups, before the postmen walked their daily routes (Yes, mailmen actually walk in Chicago to hand-deliver mail door to door), before the sidewalks were teaming with boisterous school kids, just as the sun reached the horizon, the streets were mine. Every morning by 6am I was out running the streets, writing poetry in my head, finishing that English essay, escaping into my own little world.
It is a funny thing to look back on those days as a Sophomore in High School and realize how little some things have truly changed. Just as when I was 14, running is my escape. I would have laughed if someone told me that a decade-and-a-half later I'd be doing the same thing, only this time with a stroller. Here I am, same blonde pig tails, shorts, shoes, shirt, out on the streets alone. Running. It's my peace, my meditation, my light, my world.
It may be difficult to overlook the fact that I am a runner. I look the part with my trained quads, callused feet and missing toe-nails. Even though friends and strangers alike can pin me as a runner, the understanding behind it is much more difficult, even for me. Try as I might, I will never be able to express what exactly running is to me. All the adjectives in the world will still leave the relationship feeling inadequate.
Then to describe what is means to me to run the Chicago Marathon on Sunday, October 12th is impossible.
After spending nearly every day of my collegiate running career injured,
hobbling around campus on crutches, lost and confused, trying to re-discover my place in this world.
Then suffering through pain run after bloody run for the next three years.
Cycling, racing bikes, meeting my now husband, loving our common ground but still feeling lost.
Then giving birth to our 1st baby in 2009 and wondering how I would ever get fit again.
Getting fit and then giving birth to my 2nd child in 2011 and then buying our double Chariot.
Getting super fit and absolutely falling in love with running with my girls.
Getting inspired watching my sister run her first 26.2 at the San Diego Rock 'N Roll Marathon.
Then the very next day seeing two blue lines and shockingly discovering I was pregnant.
Feeling set back and lost yet again.
Wondering when and how I would ever be able to run a marathon.
My son and last baby turning 1 and finally feeling ready to run that marathon.
Then learning that Chicago would change it's marathon entry system to a lottery, based on pure luck.
Then winning that lottery, my sister winning the lottery and us registering together for my first marathon.
Training devoutly for the next 5 months,
to be diagnosed (pre-maturely) with a metatarsal stress fracture with just 4 weeks to go.
Watching all my hope wash away with the dirt, sweat and tears that I had endured over the past 15 years of running.
Having a late night conversation with my husband,
Him pleading with me to face the fact that perhaps I just never could run a marathon,
that is was not the end of the world,
But perhaps my body just couldn't handle it.
Then seeing my perfectly healthy bones via X-ray and MRI days later,
Just 2 weeks ago.
Getting the clear to run "if not in pain,"
Then running without any pain,
Running 16 miles after 2 weeks off and feeling incredible.
Finishing my final workout yesterday morning with Isaac in the single Bob,
Packing my bag to fly to Chicago in just 2 days.
That is what running the Chicago Marathon this coming Sunday means to me.
Many years,
millions of miles,
hundreds of shoes,
too many injuries,
but so much hope and perseverance.
Holding on to the dream of that 14 year old boney-kneed blonde.
That is what Chicago means to me.
It is a funny thing to look back on those days as a Sophomore in High School and realize how little some things have truly changed. Just as when I was 14, running is my escape. I would have laughed if someone told me that a decade-and-a-half later I'd be doing the same thing, only this time with a stroller. Here I am, same blonde pig tails, shorts, shoes, shirt, out on the streets alone. Running. It's my peace, my meditation, my light, my world.
It may be difficult to overlook the fact that I am a runner. I look the part with my trained quads, callused feet and missing toe-nails. Even though friends and strangers alike can pin me as a runner, the understanding behind it is much more difficult, even for me. Try as I might, I will never be able to express what exactly running is to me. All the adjectives in the world will still leave the relationship feeling inadequate.
Then to describe what is means to me to run the Chicago Marathon on Sunday, October 12th is impossible.
After spending nearly every day of my collegiate running career injured,
hobbling around campus on crutches, lost and confused, trying to re-discover my place in this world.
Then suffering through pain run after bloody run for the next three years.
Cycling, racing bikes, meeting my now husband, loving our common ground but still feeling lost.
Then giving birth to our 1st baby in 2009 and wondering how I would ever get fit again.
Getting fit and then giving birth to my 2nd child in 2011 and then buying our double Chariot.
Getting super fit and absolutely falling in love with running with my girls.
Getting inspired watching my sister run her first 26.2 at the San Diego Rock 'N Roll Marathon.
Then the very next day seeing two blue lines and shockingly discovering I was pregnant.
Feeling set back and lost yet again.
Wondering when and how I would ever be able to run a marathon.
My son and last baby turning 1 and finally feeling ready to run that marathon.
Then learning that Chicago would change it's marathon entry system to a lottery, based on pure luck.
Then winning that lottery, my sister winning the lottery and us registering together for my first marathon.
Training devoutly for the next 5 months,
to be diagnosed (pre-maturely) with a metatarsal stress fracture with just 4 weeks to go.
Watching all my hope wash away with the dirt, sweat and tears that I had endured over the past 15 years of running.
Having a late night conversation with my husband,
Him pleading with me to face the fact that perhaps I just never could run a marathon,
that is was not the end of the world,
But perhaps my body just couldn't handle it.
Then seeing my perfectly healthy bones via X-ray and MRI days later,
Just 2 weeks ago.
Getting the clear to run "if not in pain,"
Then running without any pain,
Running 16 miles after 2 weeks off and feeling incredible.
Finishing my final workout yesterday morning with Isaac in the single Bob,
Packing my bag to fly to Chicago in just 2 days.
That is what running the Chicago Marathon this coming Sunday means to me.
Many years,
millions of miles,
hundreds of shoes,
too many injuries,
but so much hope and perseverance.
Holding on to the dream of that 14 year old boney-kneed blonde.
That is what Chicago means to me.
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| Chicago skyline painting by my talented little sis, Ellen. |
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| Chicago love. Photo taken 3 days post-wedding, 2009. |
Monday, September 15, 2014
Perspective
I believe that everything happens for a reason. Life is not random or meaningless. It is complex, exhilarating, challenging. The moment you are sure you have it all figured out, you have it all together, everything is turned on its head.
On September 10th, I felt a dull, but distinct and unfortunately familiar, pain in my left 2nd-4th metatarsal area. The moment I felt it, I recognized it and named it in my head. The words stress fracture loomed in my brain and destroyed the rest of our day. I was on edge, crabby, frustrated beyond belief and disappointed. I had spent the past 4 months (and 14 years!) preparing for my first marathon. I was set to run Chicago in just one month. I had been so careful and methodical with my training and all was going just as planned. Days before I had finished a 20 mile hilly trail run in less than 3 hours and it felt EASY! I was ready, finally. I was ready to run a fast time in Chicago, hopefully qualify for Boston and have a blast doing it. I had visualized how it would feel to cross that finish line. The pain, the agony, the waiting, finally about to be over. I was ready, SO ready. And now.. this.
I spent most of the day September 10th wallowing in my own self-pity. Then came sleep and the next day. September 11th. Well, it's hard to feel bad for yourself or sit around and moan on a day such as September 11th. The history, the tragic moments that changed our nation, that changed each and every one of us on that day, the reminder of what we suffered, of the thousands upon thousands whom were affected and who lost their lives. As I woke up that morning and stepped out of bed, I felt the pain in my left foot. But as I walked downstairs, clicked on my phone and saw the date 9/11 displayed atop the screen, my pain dissipated. Suddenly, my little foot pain didn't feel so monumental.
Sometimes all we need is a little perspective. Yes, I am heart-broken. Yes, I am devastated. Yes, I am frustrated. No, I do not know when I will be able to train again. I do not know when I will attempt to run a marathon again because in my heart I don't know whether my body can handle it. That is the most challenging part of this all: facing the fact that maybe my body can not run a marathon. Running has and always will be my biggest passion. I can not simply give it up. Sometimes, I pray that I could find some replacement. I tried cycling, tried mountain biking, every method of yoga, pilates. My heart and my soul yearn to be a marathoner. Heck, I yearn to be an ultra-marathoner, with every ounce of my being. But I also have a brain attached to my body and the nerve endings are sending messages that my body is not yet ready. Will it ever be ready? The question remains unanswered.
I have been around this block more than a few times now and so while I am still awaiting the doctor's official diagnosis, the pain is too familiar for me to hold much hope. X-rays were taken this morning and my phone should ring with results sometime tomorrow. I am also awaiting my insurance's acceptance for an MRI and/or bone scan to be done sometime within the next few days. My doctor is a sports medicine specialist, a distance runner herself and is fighting for me. I know that she wants to see me run this marathon as much as my head wants to, but for the sake of my body she has begged me to sit it out.. at least for now.
In the meantime, in between the waiting, I am staying off my foot. You won't see my running but you also won't see me wallowing in my own self-pity. The timely date of injury and life's events have blessed me with a great deal of perspective. The world is a bigger place and things could be much worse. If any of those poor victims walked out of the twin towers with a fractured foot they would have been the luckiest of souls alive. And so I Am Lucky.
On September 10th, I felt a dull, but distinct and unfortunately familiar, pain in my left 2nd-4th metatarsal area. The moment I felt it, I recognized it and named it in my head. The words stress fracture loomed in my brain and destroyed the rest of our day. I was on edge, crabby, frustrated beyond belief and disappointed. I had spent the past 4 months (and 14 years!) preparing for my first marathon. I was set to run Chicago in just one month. I had been so careful and methodical with my training and all was going just as planned. Days before I had finished a 20 mile hilly trail run in less than 3 hours and it felt EASY! I was ready, finally. I was ready to run a fast time in Chicago, hopefully qualify for Boston and have a blast doing it. I had visualized how it would feel to cross that finish line. The pain, the agony, the waiting, finally about to be over. I was ready, SO ready. And now.. this.
I spent most of the day September 10th wallowing in my own self-pity. Then came sleep and the next day. September 11th. Well, it's hard to feel bad for yourself or sit around and moan on a day such as September 11th. The history, the tragic moments that changed our nation, that changed each and every one of us on that day, the reminder of what we suffered, of the thousands upon thousands whom were affected and who lost their lives. As I woke up that morning and stepped out of bed, I felt the pain in my left foot. But as I walked downstairs, clicked on my phone and saw the date 9/11 displayed atop the screen, my pain dissipated. Suddenly, my little foot pain didn't feel so monumental.
Sometimes all we need is a little perspective. Yes, I am heart-broken. Yes, I am devastated. Yes, I am frustrated. No, I do not know when I will be able to train again. I do not know when I will attempt to run a marathon again because in my heart I don't know whether my body can handle it. That is the most challenging part of this all: facing the fact that maybe my body can not run a marathon. Running has and always will be my biggest passion. I can not simply give it up. Sometimes, I pray that I could find some replacement. I tried cycling, tried mountain biking, every method of yoga, pilates. My heart and my soul yearn to be a marathoner. Heck, I yearn to be an ultra-marathoner, with every ounce of my being. But I also have a brain attached to my body and the nerve endings are sending messages that my body is not yet ready. Will it ever be ready? The question remains unanswered.
I have been around this block more than a few times now and so while I am still awaiting the doctor's official diagnosis, the pain is too familiar for me to hold much hope. X-rays were taken this morning and my phone should ring with results sometime tomorrow. I am also awaiting my insurance's acceptance for an MRI and/or bone scan to be done sometime within the next few days. My doctor is a sports medicine specialist, a distance runner herself and is fighting for me. I know that she wants to see me run this marathon as much as my head wants to, but for the sake of my body she has begged me to sit it out.. at least for now.
In the meantime, in between the waiting, I am staying off my foot. You won't see my running but you also won't see me wallowing in my own self-pity. The timely date of injury and life's events have blessed me with a great deal of perspective. The world is a bigger place and things could be much worse. If any of those poor victims walked out of the twin towers with a fractured foot they would have been the luckiest of souls alive. And so I Am Lucky.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Running Purposefully
We spend our entire lives searching for our purpose. From childhood to the elder years, we are all looking for some purpose. Nearly every child development book I have read discusses, at least in part, the need for children to feel purposeful. As parents, that is one of our primary responsibilities -- to help our children feel needed. You can see this as your child begs to sweep the floor with you at 18 months, or helps you fold laundry at 2 years old or cares for the neighbor's baby when they are only just a babe themselves. At the core of their being, our being, we all need to find some purpose.
Being a mother surely makes one feel needed. In all my life I have never felt as loved, desired or even purposeful as I do now that I have these three beings that came from within. For me, that is almost enough. I say almost, because I know that for some that is enough. For some being a mother is their sole purpose in life. I have friends who are such goddess mamas that the day they held their firstborn, they knew they had discovered the meaning of life. And I have many other mama friends, who are just as wonderful in every way, whom do not find their purpose through motherhood. We all lie somewhere along this spectrum.
I love my kids and I adore being a stay at home mother, but I know that is not my sole purpose. There are many magical days where I feel blessed beyond belief that this is my life. There are those days that I have to pinch myself just to be sure I'm not dreaming. Those days like last Friday where I hired a sitter to literally sit with a baby monitor watching my sleeping Isaac so that I could go out to lunch with my first daughter who had the day off school. We ate a luxurious lunch and then went to the preschool where she read for her former class and her sister's current class of 3-4 year olds. We followed it up with beach time play with some of our closest friends, followed by a quiet drive home and a relaxing dinner and fit-free evening. Those days are wonderful and they do occur, but even on those best days there is fighting and screaming and hair pulling and pushing and dirty diapers and sandy butts and sandy eyes and messes upon messes. I can not feel that my purpose in life is to clean up messes. I need more.
Luckily I have running and that has been where I find my purpose most days, especially on extra challenging days. I feel fortunate that running in and of itself has always felt purposeful to me. Now is when the famous Bill Bowerman quote floats through my head,
"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.”
I can find great amount of meaning in my running. I recently reached the 1-yr anniversary owning my triple stroller and with that one year of serious running with the kids. This past year has changed me in many ways, but one of the biggest changes has been my preference to run with a stroller versus rolling alone. Just like any new mother, the running jogger was awkward, annoying and a nuisance. It was not love at first run. Scroll through my past blog entries for more on this…
Yesterday Alan was home, after a lengthy work trip overseas, and I just wanted to savor our time together. I finally had my partner, my love and my co-parent back. He was home all morning and it was a lazy one. One in which no one brushes their teeth, hair or changes out of PJ's until past 9am. We were still up before 7am, but enjoyed a nice breakfast, multiple cups of black tea and extended play downstairs as a family. It crossed my mind a few times that I could sneak out for a solo run. There was nothing to do, nothing to be done and surely no one would mind if I went on a run. Except me. I didn't want to miss this family time. The kids seem to be growing under my own nose and lately I am feeling like I don't want to miss a thing because it just goes so darn fast. So I stayed put.
Finally it was 9:30 and the weatherman was calling for another 100+ degree day. Alan wanted to mountain bike ride, it was nearing Isaac's nap time and I had nothing to do. So I loaded all three in the stroller and had a blast running up the hills, exploring our local trails together with my little ones. I was overcome by how much more fun it is running together. It just makes running feel so much more purposeful. Together, I felt, we were accomplishing something great. Yesterday, under the hot summer sun, covered in dirt and sweat, watching three little ones hike (during a mid-run break) up and over steep climbs, I found my purpose.
What is your purpose? What do you do or need to do to find some purpose in this life?
Being a mother surely makes one feel needed. In all my life I have never felt as loved, desired or even purposeful as I do now that I have these three beings that came from within. For me, that is almost enough. I say almost, because I know that for some that is enough. For some being a mother is their sole purpose in life. I have friends who are such goddess mamas that the day they held their firstborn, they knew they had discovered the meaning of life. And I have many other mama friends, who are just as wonderful in every way, whom do not find their purpose through motherhood. We all lie somewhere along this spectrum.
I love my kids and I adore being a stay at home mother, but I know that is not my sole purpose. There are many magical days where I feel blessed beyond belief that this is my life. There are those days that I have to pinch myself just to be sure I'm not dreaming. Those days like last Friday where I hired a sitter to literally sit with a baby monitor watching my sleeping Isaac so that I could go out to lunch with my first daughter who had the day off school. We ate a luxurious lunch and then went to the preschool where she read for her former class and her sister's current class of 3-4 year olds. We followed it up with beach time play with some of our closest friends, followed by a quiet drive home and a relaxing dinner and fit-free evening. Those days are wonderful and they do occur, but even on those best days there is fighting and screaming and hair pulling and pushing and dirty diapers and sandy butts and sandy eyes and messes upon messes. I can not feel that my purpose in life is to clean up messes. I need more.
Luckily I have running and that has been where I find my purpose most days, especially on extra challenging days. I feel fortunate that running in and of itself has always felt purposeful to me. Now is when the famous Bill Bowerman quote floats through my head,
"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.”
I can find great amount of meaning in my running. I recently reached the 1-yr anniversary owning my triple stroller and with that one year of serious running with the kids. This past year has changed me in many ways, but one of the biggest changes has been my preference to run with a stroller versus rolling alone. Just like any new mother, the running jogger was awkward, annoying and a nuisance. It was not love at first run. Scroll through my past blog entries for more on this…
Yesterday Alan was home, after a lengthy work trip overseas, and I just wanted to savor our time together. I finally had my partner, my love and my co-parent back. He was home all morning and it was a lazy one. One in which no one brushes their teeth, hair or changes out of PJ's until past 9am. We were still up before 7am, but enjoyed a nice breakfast, multiple cups of black tea and extended play downstairs as a family. It crossed my mind a few times that I could sneak out for a solo run. There was nothing to do, nothing to be done and surely no one would mind if I went on a run. Except me. I didn't want to miss this family time. The kids seem to be growing under my own nose and lately I am feeling like I don't want to miss a thing because it just goes so darn fast. So I stayed put.
Finally it was 9:30 and the weatherman was calling for another 100+ degree day. Alan wanted to mountain bike ride, it was nearing Isaac's nap time and I had nothing to do. So I loaded all three in the stroller and had a blast running up the hills, exploring our local trails together with my little ones. I was overcome by how much more fun it is running together. It just makes running feel so much more purposeful. Together, I felt, we were accomplishing something great. Yesterday, under the hot summer sun, covered in dirt and sweat, watching three little ones hike (during a mid-run break) up and over steep climbs, I found my purpose.
What is your purpose? What do you do or need to do to find some purpose in this life?
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Friends Mean Something
** I have a bunch of cute pictures ready to attach to this post, many fitting and many of Adara on the schoolyard or doing homework, but my husband has my mac in Germany and I'm at home with this old junky PC and it simply won't allow me to attach photos. Such a pain, but one I must accept. So I apologize, but no pictures, just words tonight.**
Today was the first day back to school for many. Not for us. This is old hat. Adara is mid-way through her 3rd week of Kindergarten and it feels like she has been at this new school for years. She loves it. She has made friends and I can tell, that to her, Friends mean something. They mean everything.
I have been thinking a lot lately about what that means to have these special friends. What is means to her to make a friend. What the bond means to her, what the bond meant to me. When you are 5 years old and have spent the vast majority of every breathing moment by your mother's side for your entire life, going off to school and saying good-bye for 6-and-a-half-hours 5 days a week can feel like a lifetime. Long enough to scare you. But Adara was not scared. My independent, quiet and timid but adventurous at the same time, oldest child, walked into Kindergarten that first day and gave her Daddy a quick wave of the hand. Just a quick, simple, no-looking-back, wave. No tears were shed. No body peeling was necessary. She was ready. It never fails to amaze me how children always know when they are ready. There is no amount of prodding or begging or pushing that can be done to make a little one do something before they are fully prepared. But when they are ready, step back, big world.
I was not ready. Luckily Adara's incredible preschool teachers told me that last year. I went back and forth, back and forth, agonizing the decision over which Kindergarten to send her to, which program to send her to, whether to place her in Transitional Kindergarten or real, full-fledged Kindergarten. She was/is so young. Public School scared/scares me. I will admit it. I was raised in private school -- whether it be Catholic or Independent -- and my high school class had 49 students. "Those are your own fears, Caitlin," Adara's nursery school teacher told me last Spring, "Those are not Adara's and you can't let them become hers." How true is that statement, not only in referring to school but referring to life.
As parents we all hold our own fears. We all hold our own hesitations and our own pasts, whether dark or sunny. We all had our challenges, our traumas, those moments that we cannot let go of, that we cannot forget, that we strive to protect our children from experiencing themselves with every ounce of our being. We are mothers and so we are protectors. That is our job. But it is also our job to prepare them for this world. And this world can be harsh. I hate to even say it, or think it, but try as we may, we cannot hide our children from the pain and the heartbreak that they will experience, because they WILL experience it. The very best we can do, I believe, is to raise them well, teach them well and be there for them every step of the way. But sometimes being there must mean being in the bleachers or being in the crowds. Eventually, we have to sit back and let them live their own lives.
Adara told me yesterday about the red light, yellow light, green light reinforcement system that is in place in her classroom. It terrifies me that she might someday see her clothespin pinned to the yellow light -- or dare I even say it, the red light! (And yes, I have seen the recent social media links about this exact behavioral reinforcement system, but I have also ignored it, on purpose). It is what it is and frankly, she is excited by it. "My name is always on the green because I am a good listener," she tells me. Part of me cringes. Part of me holds my breathe. This is life. One day, she might be on the yellow light. One day, when I was merely 5 years old, my clothespin was moved to that yellow light. And it was upsetting, it was traumatic, I still remember it, but I also remember that I moved on and that I moved back to green light. And guess what, I married happily, I had kids, I earned my Master's Degree with honors. I am more than that green light.
I will strive to teach my daughter also that she is more than the shade of the circle light where she sees her name. But I will also strive to teach her respect, and to be a good listener and a good learner and a good citizen. That is what I hope public school teaches her -- that she is one member of this big, incredible, diverse and varying world. She is one person but is one person whom we need, to get along, to see no race or color or socioeconomic or religious differences. She is one person just like every other person in her classroom and in her school. She is one person and one equal. One person in this great big puzzle of a world.
At the same time, she is my person. So I will fight for her, I will protect her, but I will also let her go. I will watch her fly. I will watch her fall. I will let her make her own mistakes, I will watch her fail and I will help her back up again and watch her pull herself back up again. I will watch her be her best and I will be proud.
She is loving kindergarten and she is thriving. She has already learned a lesson that it has taken me 29 years to learn -- and that is that friends are important. Friends mean something. She needs her friends to get by and she knows that. I can sense she knows that when she looks around shyly each morning outside of her classroom, hanging onto my leg until the moment sweet little Amelie arrives. The second her school friend is there, everything is alright. She is ready, she is confident, she is her best person. She gives me a quick kiss and runs right away.
I am the same. I need my friends to get by. My friends make me my best person. Alan has been working like crazy (Ok, he always works like crazy. Lately, he's working like crazi-er.) He has been in Germany for a full week now and we still have two more sleeps until his return. The days could be long, the nights could be lonely, but for the first time in my life, they have not been. For the first time in my life, I have friends and I know they mean something. I have the best friends in the world. The ones who watch my kids so I don't have to miss a race that I've been pining after, the ones who then watch my kids after the race so I can nap and be a good mother for the rest of the day, the ones who scoop my kids up for soccer practice, who bend backwards and flip and flop and drop their own plans to make ours a little easier, who invite us over to family parties where we know we are outsiders but don't feel like it in the least, who drive many miles through LA traffic (and that alone means something!) to keep us company on quiet afternoons, who hold, change and bathe our babies and love us as we are -- imperfect, scattered, messy, cracked and broken at times -- with every ounce of their being and not because they have to, but just because they are our friends and because they know that Friends Mean Something. Some days, they mean everything.
Today was the first day back to school for many. Not for us. This is old hat. Adara is mid-way through her 3rd week of Kindergarten and it feels like she has been at this new school for years. She loves it. She has made friends and I can tell, that to her, Friends mean something. They mean everything.
I have been thinking a lot lately about what that means to have these special friends. What is means to her to make a friend. What the bond means to her, what the bond meant to me. When you are 5 years old and have spent the vast majority of every breathing moment by your mother's side for your entire life, going off to school and saying good-bye for 6-and-a-half-hours 5 days a week can feel like a lifetime. Long enough to scare you. But Adara was not scared. My independent, quiet and timid but adventurous at the same time, oldest child, walked into Kindergarten that first day and gave her Daddy a quick wave of the hand. Just a quick, simple, no-looking-back, wave. No tears were shed. No body peeling was necessary. She was ready. It never fails to amaze me how children always know when they are ready. There is no amount of prodding or begging or pushing that can be done to make a little one do something before they are fully prepared. But when they are ready, step back, big world.
I was not ready. Luckily Adara's incredible preschool teachers told me that last year. I went back and forth, back and forth, agonizing the decision over which Kindergarten to send her to, which program to send her to, whether to place her in Transitional Kindergarten or real, full-fledged Kindergarten. She was/is so young. Public School scared/scares me. I will admit it. I was raised in private school -- whether it be Catholic or Independent -- and my high school class had 49 students. "Those are your own fears, Caitlin," Adara's nursery school teacher told me last Spring, "Those are not Adara's and you can't let them become hers." How true is that statement, not only in referring to school but referring to life.
As parents we all hold our own fears. We all hold our own hesitations and our own pasts, whether dark or sunny. We all had our challenges, our traumas, those moments that we cannot let go of, that we cannot forget, that we strive to protect our children from experiencing themselves with every ounce of our being. We are mothers and so we are protectors. That is our job. But it is also our job to prepare them for this world. And this world can be harsh. I hate to even say it, or think it, but try as we may, we cannot hide our children from the pain and the heartbreak that they will experience, because they WILL experience it. The very best we can do, I believe, is to raise them well, teach them well and be there for them every step of the way. But sometimes being there must mean being in the bleachers or being in the crowds. Eventually, we have to sit back and let them live their own lives.
Adara told me yesterday about the red light, yellow light, green light reinforcement system that is in place in her classroom. It terrifies me that she might someday see her clothespin pinned to the yellow light -- or dare I even say it, the red light! (And yes, I have seen the recent social media links about this exact behavioral reinforcement system, but I have also ignored it, on purpose). It is what it is and frankly, she is excited by it. "My name is always on the green because I am a good listener," she tells me. Part of me cringes. Part of me holds my breathe. This is life. One day, she might be on the yellow light. One day, when I was merely 5 years old, my clothespin was moved to that yellow light. And it was upsetting, it was traumatic, I still remember it, but I also remember that I moved on and that I moved back to green light. And guess what, I married happily, I had kids, I earned my Master's Degree with honors. I am more than that green light.
I will strive to teach my daughter also that she is more than the shade of the circle light where she sees her name. But I will also strive to teach her respect, and to be a good listener and a good learner and a good citizen. That is what I hope public school teaches her -- that she is one member of this big, incredible, diverse and varying world. She is one person but is one person whom we need, to get along, to see no race or color or socioeconomic or religious differences. She is one person just like every other person in her classroom and in her school. She is one person and one equal. One person in this great big puzzle of a world.
At the same time, she is my person. So I will fight for her, I will protect her, but I will also let her go. I will watch her fly. I will watch her fall. I will let her make her own mistakes, I will watch her fail and I will help her back up again and watch her pull herself back up again. I will watch her be her best and I will be proud.
She is loving kindergarten and she is thriving. She has already learned a lesson that it has taken me 29 years to learn -- and that is that friends are important. Friends mean something. She needs her friends to get by and she knows that. I can sense she knows that when she looks around shyly each morning outside of her classroom, hanging onto my leg until the moment sweet little Amelie arrives. The second her school friend is there, everything is alright. She is ready, she is confident, she is her best person. She gives me a quick kiss and runs right away.
I am the same. I need my friends to get by. My friends make me my best person. Alan has been working like crazy (Ok, he always works like crazy. Lately, he's working like crazi-er.) He has been in Germany for a full week now and we still have two more sleeps until his return. The days could be long, the nights could be lonely, but for the first time in my life, they have not been. For the first time in my life, I have friends and I know they mean something. I have the best friends in the world. The ones who watch my kids so I don't have to miss a race that I've been pining after, the ones who then watch my kids after the race so I can nap and be a good mother for the rest of the day, the ones who scoop my kids up for soccer practice, who bend backwards and flip and flop and drop their own plans to make ours a little easier, who invite us over to family parties where we know we are outsiders but don't feel like it in the least, who drive many miles through LA traffic (and that alone means something!) to keep us company on quiet afternoons, who hold, change and bathe our babies and love us as we are -- imperfect, scattered, messy, cracked and broken at times -- with every ounce of their being and not because they have to, but just because they are our friends and because they know that Friends Mean Something. Some days, they mean everything.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Long Run Thoughts
Hey there, Happy Sunday to you all! I sit here writing poolside. Pink and blue duel side-by-side baby-pool-side, is. Little boy is inside napping and the girls were antsy and noisy inside, so this Mama kicked them (and herself) out to the backyard for some old fashioned hot, hot, hot summertime afternoon play. The mercury is rising and we are welcoming (or NOT) the 100 degree dog days of summer. But really, life is good.
Sunday is long run day for me. Some thoughts from this morning's 19-miler:
1. God, I am lucky. Seriously, I was thinking those exact sentiments for nearly the entire 19 mile solo sunrise run this AM. Lucky that the kids are home, safe and snug with daddy. Lucky that they are probably having an absolutely blast alone with daddy -- doesn't happen to often as he works long hours and it isn't rare for an entire day to pass without these three daddy-lovers getting a chance to see their amazing father. Lucky that my legs are healthy. Lucky that my body is healthy. Lucky that I can run 19 miles.
2. I love Hoka's. One day I will write much more about Hoka's -- my running shoe of choice these days. For now I will keep the story short. I wore minimalist shoes (sandals, to be exact). I changed/corrected my form. I re-taught my body how to run, literally from the ground up. I put my miles in. I am now a fore-foot striker. Then I increased my mileage, started racing, ran speed workouts weekly, got a calcaneous stress fracture. I was lost, I was depressed, I was embarrassed, devastated, miserable and many other words. Then my husband got me a pair of Hoka's. I have managed to score 3 free pairs now from some lucky work and friend connections and man, are they amazing. Yes, they look and feel very Frankenstein-ian at first, for a week maybe, but the extra cushioning and padding and support is incredible. They are actually a maximalist shoe, encourage proper form and have enabled me to run healthy, long, relatively high-mileage weeks (up to 50 mi/wk these days) pain-free and with very little joint fatigue after even 19 miles of pounding. Hoka's are amazing. I love them. I will write them a more proper ode later. : )
3. I wish I had a stroller + kid with me. Running with kids is more fun. Kids make life fun. They make everything a little more challenging, a little longer, a little more effort, but a LOT more fun. And stroller running also means they carry my water. It may seem silly, but I'd chose pushing a stroller with 1, 2 or 3 kids any day with my water loaded in the stroller trunk over running solo and carrying my own water. I hate carrying my own water, but alas it's part of the game.
4. Running in the heat is treacherous. As an exhausted mother who has been sleep deprived for 5+ years now, who rarely sleeps through the night and is lucky to get 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep (and I know, it could be worse because it has been worse, I've paid my dues), I abhor the idea of waking up to an alarm. My kids are early-risers, typically up before 6am. They are my alarm clock. But with the heat on full power these days, I have been setting my alarm every Saturday night for 5:30am. And oh, is it worth it when I am out the door before 5:40am and back from a 19-miler before 8:30am and the temperature is only 80 degrees. I'll take it.
6. Most days I cover more mileage running than by car. My mom gave me a little Fitbit. I put it on each morning and go. I rarely check the data, often forgetting for weeks on end. Sorry, Mom! One day I'll take full advantage of all the Fitbit apps and tools. For now, it serves an entertaining accessory to me. It always makes me smile when I get all 5 lights flashing before I have even reached the middle of my run. Five flashing lights signify that "You have reached your goal" or taken as many steps as the Fitbit program recommends per day. Today I reached my daily step goal before 7:00am. I suppose I should look into re-calibrating my baseline. One day! Ha -- as I sit her typing, an email alert just popped up with a message, "You've walked 30,000 steps today!" I guess that's cool. I still do not run with anything more than my Fitbit, handheld water bottle and a few Gu's. I don't run with a watch (I just get too time-obsessed and start racing myself) and for the same reason I don't use GPS, running computer, smart phone, music, iPod, or anything besides my own two legs. I love running for the pure joy and fun of it. Too much gear takes that away for me. Google maps or mapmyrun does come in handy pre- and post-run for determining exact mileage.
7. Running is fun. Simple as that, running is fun. Like nothing else, it leaves me with a deep sense of peace. Overcome with happiness, gratitude and love. 19 miles complete and I am ready to face the day, face the kids, face the world and all its ugliness, all its depression, sadness, stress and injustice. Ready to be my best and be the change. In my heart I believe that is all the world needs each day, it is all we can ask of ourselves: To be our best.
That's it for now. This pink pool beside me is calling and I am ready to join my girls for some baby pool swimming.
Sunday is long run day for me. Some thoughts from this morning's 19-miler:
1. God, I am lucky. Seriously, I was thinking those exact sentiments for nearly the entire 19 mile solo sunrise run this AM. Lucky that the kids are home, safe and snug with daddy. Lucky that they are probably having an absolutely blast alone with daddy -- doesn't happen to often as he works long hours and it isn't rare for an entire day to pass without these three daddy-lovers getting a chance to see their amazing father. Lucky that my legs are healthy. Lucky that my body is healthy. Lucky that I can run 19 miles.
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| A very happy boy with his Daddy at a Getty Kid's Concert last night. |
2. I love Hoka's. One day I will write much more about Hoka's -- my running shoe of choice these days. For now I will keep the story short. I wore minimalist shoes (sandals, to be exact). I changed/corrected my form. I re-taught my body how to run, literally from the ground up. I put my miles in. I am now a fore-foot striker. Then I increased my mileage, started racing, ran speed workouts weekly, got a calcaneous stress fracture. I was lost, I was depressed, I was embarrassed, devastated, miserable and many other words. Then my husband got me a pair of Hoka's. I have managed to score 3 free pairs now from some lucky work and friend connections and man, are they amazing. Yes, they look and feel very Frankenstein-ian at first, for a week maybe, but the extra cushioning and padding and support is incredible. They are actually a maximalist shoe, encourage proper form and have enabled me to run healthy, long, relatively high-mileage weeks (up to 50 mi/wk these days) pain-free and with very little joint fatigue after even 19 miles of pounding. Hoka's are amazing. I love them. I will write them a more proper ode later. : )
3. I wish I had a stroller + kid with me. Running with kids is more fun. Kids make life fun. They make everything a little more challenging, a little longer, a little more effort, but a LOT more fun. And stroller running also means they carry my water. It may seem silly, but I'd chose pushing a stroller with 1, 2 or 3 kids any day with my water loaded in the stroller trunk over running solo and carrying my own water. I hate carrying my own water, but alas it's part of the game.
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| Not a HOV (high occupancy vehicle) this week. With Adara in Kindergarten now, the triple is no longer fully loaded for afternoon runs. |
4. Running in the heat is treacherous. As an exhausted mother who has been sleep deprived for 5+ years now, who rarely sleeps through the night and is lucky to get 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep (and I know, it could be worse because it has been worse, I've paid my dues), I abhor the idea of waking up to an alarm. My kids are early-risers, typically up before 6am. They are my alarm clock. But with the heat on full power these days, I have been setting my alarm every Saturday night for 5:30am. And oh, is it worth it when I am out the door before 5:40am and back from a 19-miler before 8:30am and the temperature is only 80 degrees. I'll take it.
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| Sweating it out. Backyard/naptime play. |
5. I love marathon training. Mostly, I love long runs. I love the feeling that I am about to go out there and run further than I have ever run before. I get a rush from the knowledge that my body is being pushed to some new limits. Mostly, I am constantly amazed and inspired by the body's incredible ability to go further, push harder, respond positively without breaking down and while achieving amazing feats. (Sorry for this wacky formatting -- I suspect my computer may be overheating as it's acting a bit wacky at the moment and is refusing to align this paragraph correctly!)
6. Most days I cover more mileage running than by car. My mom gave me a little Fitbit. I put it on each morning and go. I rarely check the data, often forgetting for weeks on end. Sorry, Mom! One day I'll take full advantage of all the Fitbit apps and tools. For now, it serves an entertaining accessory to me. It always makes me smile when I get all 5 lights flashing before I have even reached the middle of my run. Five flashing lights signify that "You have reached your goal" or taken as many steps as the Fitbit program recommends per day. Today I reached my daily step goal before 7:00am. I suppose I should look into re-calibrating my baseline. One day! Ha -- as I sit her typing, an email alert just popped up with a message, "You've walked 30,000 steps today!" I guess that's cool. I still do not run with anything more than my Fitbit, handheld water bottle and a few Gu's. I don't run with a watch (I just get too time-obsessed and start racing myself) and for the same reason I don't use GPS, running computer, smart phone, music, iPod, or anything besides my own two legs. I love running for the pure joy and fun of it. Too much gear takes that away for me. Google maps or mapmyrun does come in handy pre- and post-run for determining exact mileage.
7. Running is fun. Simple as that, running is fun. Like nothing else, it leaves me with a deep sense of peace. Overcome with happiness, gratitude and love. 19 miles complete and I am ready to face the day, face the kids, face the world and all its ugliness, all its depression, sadness, stress and injustice. Ready to be my best and be the change. In my heart I believe that is all the world needs each day, it is all we can ask of ourselves: To be our best.
That's it for now. This pink pool beside me is calling and I am ready to join my girls for some baby pool swimming.
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