Mulholland is a Woman

Happy Saturday! I woke up this morning, devoured a banana, dressed in my comfiest long distance running clothes and ran out the door. I ran to Mulholland, as usual. By 8:00am I was home from a 15 mile solo trail run, with a poem written in my head. I snuck in the door to see Alan feeding three happy kids at the breakfast table. I pleaded for an extra 5 minutes to sneak outside with the laptop and record the poem in my head, before it was lost. I'll share it here. Enjoy!

Mulholland is a Woman

She is ragged and edgy

Her skin stubble

Her flesh dry

Years are felt by her cracks

She is old.

And wise.

She can not offer majestic falls.

She has no caverns

Nor canyons.

She is dirty and magical.

She is no Yosemite

No Sequoia.

Travelers are few and far between.

Her beauty is deep.

She is mysterious,

Elusive.

It took me seven years

To see her.

To know her.

Now,

I have memorized her every curve

And crevice

Her ragged edges make her.

Her unforgiving decents

And rocky mountains

Formed her.

Now I trod upon her

With the greatest respect

She can bless me

Or destroy me.

She leaves me exhausted,

Panting

Yet begging for more.

With the seasons

Bring change

Rain highlights her green

Fires show her vibrant red.

To some

She is just dirt

To me

Mulholland is a woman.

Mind Games

This morning, I won a race. I am not going to brag, or be boastful, beating my chest and standing upon the highest step -- though I was asked to take my position on the podium this morning, beside two 16 year old twin sisters! To put it simply, I am proud. This is my passion, my love, my outlet. I work my butt off, I push myself -- and three kids! --  and so when I come out on top, or finish hard, or put in a good effort, I feel proud.

I am expressive about it now, because (as I wrote in a previous post a few months back), there were many times when I could not or did not feel proud of myself. I have won races before, many back in High School. Yet, somehow, I still felt inadequate. I rarely felt 100% proud of myself. So I will say it again. Today, I won a race and I am proud. I

f you win a race, or finish a race, or reach your goal or have a good morning without yelling at your kids or losing your temper, or whatever you have achieved that was wonderful -- please, just be proud. Recognize it, feel happy for yourself, and have a great day. We want our kids to feel proud of themselves, so why not model it, right?

Though I was the first female across the line today, I know that I was not the most physically strong woman out there. I have three kids, I am lucky to sleep 4-5 hours/night, I eat frozen burritos (I found an amazing brand of vegan ones at Whole Foods!) and whatever else can be devoured with most ease and least effort these days. I am surely not the strongest physically out there. I am convinced that all my running success is due to mental toughness. In my heart and in my mind, I know that I was the strongest woman out there today, mentally. When I toe the starting line, I know that my head is in the right spot. Running is all about mind games and is arguably more of a mental sport than a physical one. If your head is not in it, if you have doubts, if you simply can not step up to the line and believe that you are going to win, then guess what, you will never win (or achieve your goal, finishing time, etc.).

Today's course was one of the most challenging ones in which I have ever completed/competed. The first 2 miles climbed, hills so tough that the 16 year old twins in front of me started hiking. You are not going to win a race if you don't keep running, I thought to myself. I am not going to let someone beat me by walking. These are the thoughts that passed through my brain right before I politely asked, "Can I please pass?" One sister scooted to the right of the single track. The other feigned innocence. I asked once more and then passed quickly and carefully, never to see them again.

They were strong, they were physically rock solid, but their mental game couldn't hold. I am strong because I am a woman, I am a mother. I gave birth to three children, all without any drugs or interventions or pain-killers. I suffered through 32 hours of child labor, without as much as an ibuprofen, For 24 of those hours, I vomited all over myself and everything else in sight. At the end of those 32 excruciating hours, I was told to push with all the might of the entire universe to get this child out of my body and into my arms, where she would stay, forever. After you go through something like that, you don't lose to a walker. If someone is going to beat me, they are going to have to bleed to do it. That has always been one of my favorite quotes from Steve Prefontaine. Today no one bled, but I know that I suffered out there more than anyone else. And I was just lucky enough to come out on top.

A Simple Question

"Mama?"

"Yes, Adara."
"Why do you always want to run with us?

She asked me this question, such a simple seeming question this afternoon, mid-run. I have probably written about why I run with my kids a hundred times. My first EVER blog entry was titled, "I run to be a better mother," for goodness sake. Then why did her question stump me this afternoon?

Perhaps it was because I was running on fumes, quite literally, after a mere 4 hours of sleep last night. Perhaps it was because I was mid-hill, nearly choking for breath and simply trying to make it up, alive. Or perhaps it was because that question tugs at every fiber of my being.

"Why do you always want to run with us?"

Such a simple question posed by a 4-and-a-half-year-old little sprite. Such a simple question that sent my brain spinning, searching for an answer, the answer. How could I explain it all in one sentence. She is four. She does not yet possess the patience nor the desire to listen to a 3-Act Play, a lecture of sorts, a highly emotional mother of three young ones celebrating her fourth ever Mother's Day. She does not want nor need to hear the love story, the passion, the obsession that has unfolded between this 28-year old Mama and her fire red triple jogging stroller. She does not need care about the glorious details. She is too young to comprehend that running makes me a better mother, transforms me and bestows upon me the most beautiful sense of peace and acceptance and love. She does not know how running refuels me and exhausts me. In the same breath. How running motivates me and inspires me to be the person I want to become. How it makes me strong, internally and externally. How it makes me feel proud, for pushing through the pain, the exhaustion. How my brain spikes with an adrenaline rush after every long or hard effort. How it is the closest feeling, the nearest level of intensity that I will ever experience again that even approaches the pain, oh the pain, and the bliss that was... her birth. How I long to feel that again.. and so that is why I run.

I can not tell her that. She is only 4. Then I realize, all she wants to know is that she is loved. For that is all any of us really want to know. And so I summit the mountain, I take a long deep breath and a sip of my too-quickly-grown-warm-water and I choose my words carefully.

I always want to run with you (and Cesia and Isaac, and Daddy when he can join us) because more than anything else in this entire world, I want to be with you. And next to wanting to be with you, I want to be running. And so, Adara, if I can be out running with my favorite people in this entire world, that is all I want to be doing.

"Running with you, Adara, it makes me happy."
"Mama?"
"Yes, Adara."
"It makes me happy, too."

That made for a very happy mother and a very happy mother's day.

This, too, made for a happy Mama.
Happy Mother's Day, to me.

Cesia's Mother's Day gift, with message on the back,
"I love my mommy because she gives me kisses."
Things like this, they make me cry.

My three superheroes.

Post-sprinkler fun. Obsessed with these towels Grandma sent.

Sunny, hot, memorable Mother's Day run.

Saturday alone time with the girls. At the Mall. On the carousel.
Carousel's are magical. Pure Joy.

Little Boy gets a break from elimination diets
for his first (baby-sized) chocolate ice cream cone. : )

Chocolate ice cream is pure joy, too.

Tears streamed steadily as I watched my
eldest serve me Mother's Day Tea at
preschool last week.

I am a Mother

It is past 1am. I find myself in front of the computer screen, reading and writing. I am crying.

Holding Adara for the first time. August 3, 2009.

I am a Mother
by Caitlin Jacobsen

I am crying
because
I am sad,
I am happy,
I am scared,
because I did too much,
or not enough.

I am crying
because
I let him cry too long,
when he needed me.
I wasn't there,
I didn't come fast enough.

I am crying
because
he vomited.
Again.

I am crying
because
in my stomach
I hold fear.
I am afraid
that he is sick,
that something is wrong.
That test results will show
there's something more.

I am crying
because
I worry.
I worry that I am crying.
I was not a worrier
before I had kids.

I am crying
because
I love them
these three beings
with every ounce
of being
that is within me.

I am crying
because
I am tired,
oh so tired.
I haven't slept
through the night
in weeks,
or months,
or many many years.

I am crying
because
I want to be more,
I want to be their everything,
Yet in my heart
I know
I already am.

I am crying
because
he is asleep.
After 2 hours,
he is finally asleep,
and I miss him
I miss the weight of his body
in my arms
and I want to hold him
again.
But he needs sleep
and I need sleep.

I am crying
because
I am lucky.
I am happy.
I am blessed
to be a mother.
On best days
and worst days.
This
is what I wanted,
what I have always wanted.

I am crying
because
I am a mother.

Happy Mother's Day to my mother, for letting me cry, for teaching me it's okay to cry.
Happy Mother's Day to my friends and mothers who have taught me, held me, inspired me, laughed with me, cried with me and loved me.

Naptime Speedwork

In an effort to fit it all in smoothly yesterday, I ran my weekly speed work session with the single Bob and Isaac. We dropped the girls off at school, kissed, hugged, dashed back home and loaded into the stroller with a sippy full of (almond) milk and some dried apples for the boy to munch. I was hoping to get the workout in by 10am and still make it home for his morning nap (2 of 4 hours I get all week to myself to do things like pay bills, take a shower alone, eat a hot meal before it grows cold, and other such parenthood luxuries). Less than 10 minutes in and the boy was passed out. I reclined his seat -- a very real luxury of the Bob stroller -- and punched "start" on my chile pepper red running watch.

Three mile repeats at 1/2 marathon pace. 7:10/mile. Not too bad, no intense pain, no all out sprinting, no peeing in the pants (yes, this is a real concern for postpartum mothers). My current training plan on tap is for the Valley Crest Trail Half Marathon which nearly runs through our backyard. The course traverses 13.1 miles of the Santa Monica Mountains and happens to cover the same trail route I run on nearly every day of the week. The race is on June 8th, just two days after I turn 29 and will be my birthday present to myself. I can't wait. The training overlaps perfectly with Chicago marathon training and will gradually prepare my body for the increasingly longer runs and higher mileage of full 26.2 mile rigor.

I decided to run the mile repeats up on the trail yesterday. I had to forgo exact mileage and simply run for time and feel, but that is what trail running and racing is really all about anyway. 7:10 miles on my favorite muddy trails with my favorite little running buddy made for the best possible Monday morning. Still feeling quite good and aware that my partner was snoozing away (and would wake the second I stopped running), I continued straight on another 4 miles to reach the Top of Reseda and back. Top of Reseda is a popular running/mountain biking/hiking hub and the start/finish line of the Valley Crest 1/2 Marathon. The view up there is incredible. Breathtaking.

The beauty surrounding us never ceases to amaze me. When we are willing to push ourselves and reach the top, we are never disappointed.

Isaac hiking to the top on Tuesday morning.