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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!

New Site Launched!

It is with great excitement that I announce my new baby! 

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. : )

Stress Management

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. 

Adara and her tree.

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.

When Cesia was only 3 days old and my whole world turned upside down, we came back. "You're crazy," my mom said, "You shouldn't be out at the beach, carrying around that heavy carseat when you should be in bed recovering." But I needed to be there. I remember leaving with a new perspective, a new meaning. I found exactly what I needed there at Topanga State Beach. It will always hold a special place in my heart and be my favorite.

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!

I remember nothing but that smile from a favorite beach moment.
2011.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

This time two weeks ago, I sat with that knowledge that in the morning I would figuratively be shooting myself. I was about to undergo immense pain, but pain with meaning and so I held on with Faith.

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?

Waking up the next morning, coffee and baby boy at my side.

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?

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 she know how magical every moment was with her?

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?

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.

Chicago skyline painting by my talented little sis, Ellen.

Chicago love. Photo taken 3 days post-wedding, 2009.