Princess Mountain Climber

I have been thinking a lot this past week about my stance on some issues. As a mother of three curious kids, two of them very verbal and constantly questioning EVERYTHING, I do my best to stay one step ahead. Alan and I spend many evenings together on the couch discussing and preparing for potential parenting/teaching moments. Sipping a cold beer and discussing princesses.

The thing is, our daughters (and son, for that matter) are obsessed with the movie Frozen right now. In fact, I think everyone's daughters are obsessed with Frozen. The songs fill our house and our car and our heads. I ran 16 miles on Sunday with "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" on repeat in my brain. I suppose there are worse things to complain of. They love the music and at the heart of both the film and the songs lies a good message: trust in yourself, be strong.

Still, I am not completely settled on my stance on Princesses. Or Barbies. Or anything of the like. The thing is, Barbies are plain scary looking. Adara received a Barbie for Christmas last year. She tried to bend the Barbie's legs and sit her down in her paper dollhouse when we realized the doll couldn't sit down because her shorts were too tight! The whole thing was ridiculous with her unnatural proportions and made-up face. But is that what my almost-5 year old is really seeing when she plays with her Barbie? Most of the time the dolls are naked, she could care less whether they have on any clothes because really she is just using them for imaginative play. She uses them to act out a scene, one doll in each hand, two best friends playing "Kindergarten" together or taking a swim in the doll house pool. She can play with these things for hours on end, acting out little stories in hushed whispers, running around the house from room to room with two Barbies.

And as much as I despise their looks, watching her, I am reminded of another little girl who used to spend her days playing with Barbies. A little girl who was obsessed with her little dolls for many years, surely old enough to move on to more mature activities, yet she loved her imaginative play with Barbies. Twenty five years ago, that little girl was me. Watching my girls play with Barbies brings me back to Kelly Nagle's basement. Huddled in her unfinished play-room downstairs, we spent hours simply playing -- with each other and our imaginations -- with our Barbies.

Sometimes while out running, I'll pass a newly constructed fence. the drifting smell of cedar will put me right back there with Kelly, sifting through her Barbie bag together, picking out our favorites and creating our families, preparing for an afternoon full of adventure and imagination. What's so wrong with that? How can I deprive my daughter of a toy that provided some of my very best childhood and adolescent memories (Yes, I played with Barbies until I was an adolescent).

I think everything has a context. Life and lessons are not black and white. To me, princesses and Barbies lie somewhere in the gray. If my girls were sitting there ogling over the fake bodies of their dolls or talking about how pretty these dolls looked and parading them around, I would have a problem. For now, though, dolls and princesses to them are simply girls. Girls, whom, like themselves, are strong. Girls like Elsa who are brave and powerful. Girls like Anna who wear fancy dresses and ride horses and love their sisters.

Last week while Alan's parents were in town, we went hiking on a very steep single track section off Mulholland. Cesia wore a dress. She has worn a dress everyday for the past six months, if not longer. It used to bug me. I used to fight it, insisting she wear a sportier outfit and put on some shorts and a t-shirt to fit her ever-active lifestyle. She fought it more and I stopped caring. Why? Partly because you have to choose your battles and partly because that is just who Cesia is. Dresses make her feel girly and that is just fine with me. Hiking, running on trails and climbing rocks and trees makes her feel strong and adventurous and that is just fine with me. I am all for running skirts and post-workout dresses, in 100% support of embracing your femininity as well as your strength. We admire our muscles as well as our bruises, scrapes and skinned knees -- all marks of an adventurous day.

Hiking Solstice Canyon Saturday morning.

I told her the other day that the top ultra-runner in the world is a woman. A girl, I told her. "Yeah, I know," she responded nonchalantly, "Girls are fast." Later, descending down a rocky trail, very carefully choosing her footing, she looked back at me and said, "Mama, when I grow up I want to be a... a Princess Mountain Climber." Then do it!

My princess mountain climber.

What is your take on princesses? On Barbies? Do you allow your children to play with them? How do you encourage your girls' strength and toughness while also celebrating their femininity?

Summer Adventures

It has been another lapse. Another lengthy time between posts. The lapse has all been for a good reason. We have been busy -- good busy. In an effort to simplify this life and enjoy my three precious little ones who are growing bigger and stronger and faster by the day, I have made a conscious effort to write when I have time and only then. I love writing and it brings me peace and calm but only when I do not stress about it. I find some irony or hypocrisy, even, when I sit here and write about simplifying my life while simultaneously wringing my hands over when I can find the time to blog.

Some of the incredible mamas and bloggers out there whom I follow post at least once/week if not 3x/week. I find myself wondering how they do it. And I love that they do post often because their writing inspires me, feeds me.  How do they fit it in? Then I am reminded once again that everything in life is all about priorities. How did I find time to run 40 miles last week with a long run of 14? How did I find time to run 14 miles and then cook an elaborate dinner? We all have our priorities and as much as I love writing, at this moment in my life it simply sits mid-list. Mid-list behind child loving and caring and feeding and everything else child-related, running and being a centered-peaceful presence as a wife and partner. I suspect those other mama bloggers who manage to post with much more frequency simply need it more. I need running, we all know that, and so running never lapses. I can't say the same for my writing right now...

So, here I am, lied out on the couch between my two girls who are elatedly watching Tangled for the very first time. Typing away between glances at the film and my girls and the baby monitor, fitting it all in the best way I know how. I awoke this morning with a nasty bout of food poisoning (I suspect, from some of the veggies in the delicious green-stuffed portabella mushroom quinoa cake dish I made last night). My stomach seems to be more sensitive these days from bacteria or bugs in veggies as this is the third (suspected) bout of food poisoning/violent stomach illness I have had in 2 months. I am not sure if it's due to increased running and general stomach sensitivity issues or a decreased gut-flora good-bacteria level, but I do know I will take my probiotics religiously and pray the worst of it is over. So anyway, I find myself lying on the couch typing and not feeling guilty that the girls are watching a movie mid-summers day because I am sick. Mama needs to rest, but isn't so good at resting (I'll share that little secret with you) so at least she's lying down and getting something accomplished via computer at the same time.

I have about 10 different posts competing for attention in my head right now. I have been desperately wanting to share my now-very-postponed Trail 1/2 Marathon Race Report with you from the Valley Crest 1/2 Marathon I ran (and wiped out and had stomach issues-mid race and ultimately finished third) on June 8th. I have also been antsy to write about our two-weeks in Chicago and how it felt to be back in the midwest. Or I could write about our two-week road trip that followed soon after and how I felt deeply connected to Oregon and hope to find my way back there soon. I could write of my first ever marathon training and how I plan(ned) to run 16 miles tomorrow, though post-food-poisoning weakness will have to determine whether I get to do that tomorrow or must wait a few more days. I could write of how much I have enjoyed summer and its long days and these kids and exploring and getting dirty (Isaac dirty, which is a whole new level of dirtiness) and making s'mores and daily family trail runs (where Alan pushes the triple stroller!) and beach visits and spending time with extended family and how their love and help is so appreciated.

Someday, I may write about those adventures. But right now I think I will share some photo highlights from summer adventures and then get back to watching Tangled with my girls. It's all about priorities, right. : )

Lincoln Park Zoo with Grandma.

Sisters.

Cesia being Cesia.

Daddy joins us for the weekend in Chicago. Navy Pier Ferris Wheel.

Ghiradelli Square, San Francisco.

Lake of the Woods Oregon, right outside our perfectly snug little cabin.

Building our evening campfire.

Little boy and his rocks.
 

Cesia and Alan on the paddle boat.

Early morning lake walk.

Love.

I hope your summer has been full of adventure, long days full of sunshine, sticky sand, dirty feet and sun screened babies. The days are slipping by slowly and school will be here before we know it. I have a daughter who is about to turn 5 and life just moves too fast. Enjoy it and celebrate it! Happy Summer!

It's in the eyes

Our sanctuary.

Cesia's 1st Birthday.

.

Becoming a father.

It's in the eyes.

Those eyes...

Daddy and Adara.

Soccer in Santa Monica.

Montana, June 2013.

Silly kids.

Daddy and baby Cesia. March 2011.

Beach daddy.

Arizona, Christmas 2013.

Christmas Concert 2013.

Becoming a father, for the third time.

Daddy tickle attack.

Becoming a daddy, again.

Halloween 2011.

Cesia and her daddy.

The eyes.

Daddy animal rides.

Prescott Arizona, 2013.

It's in the eyes.

The way he looked at her.

Their eyes met and locked

Connected.

He didn't stray his from hers

For hours.

As they wheeled her away,

Connected

to tubes and wires and monitors.

His eyes watched hers.

It's in the eyes.

The way he looked at me

as he returned.

He came back 

to me.

Myself, cleaned, stitched and sore

in places I never realized 

existed.

Ready and excited.

Hand in hand, he led me

To see my first born

my daughter

my Adara

For the first time.

It's in the eyes.

The way we looked at her

Together

At each other

In awe,

In honor,

I wonder

At our greatest creation

Our greatest gift

to each other

Our baby girl.

It's in the eyes.

Bursting blue.

Eyelashes that go on for days

The type that never need mascara.

His and hers and hers and his.

They all have his eyes.

It's in the eyes.

"She smiles with her eyes,"

They all told me.

I smile

because I know she got that from him.

They got that from him.

They have his eyes and his heart.

It's in the eyes.

The love

The bond

The family secrets

They share.

The way they stare at him

The way they adore him

Marvel at him

Imitate him

Strive to be him

and I hope, someday

Will. 

Happy Father's Day to my love, their love, their Daddy.

It Doesn't Get Any Easier

"It doesn't get any easier, you just get faster." - Greg Lemond (cyclist)

I found myself reflecting on this sentiment while out running through local single track this morning. I was alone and I had time to think. I was running the exact same course that I ran on the eve of my 28th birthday. Come Friday, I will be 29. It was that solitary run one year ago that inspired me to write my first ever blog post. Really, it was that run one year ago that inspired me to change the way I was looking at the world and handling my life. I was frustrated, spending my days, long days, with pent up anger and frustration about not being able to run. It was my first year with three kids. Ages 3.5, 2 and 5 months and my stroller could only hold 2. I considered most days bad days. Each night was ended with a newborn asleep on my chest and a head full of doubt. How could I get through another day of this? Another year? I hate ending the day with regrets, feeling upset with myself, wishing I handled my two-year-old's tantrums better, wishing I had more patience during the nightly bed-time routine. Something had to change.

I had spent months debating with my husband and myself on whether or not to purchase a triple stroller. Crazy, right? Who pushes a triple stroller? Who runs with a triple stroller? My friend Jean convinced me that I could run with a triple stroller. "You may not run fast, but you can definitely run with it," she said so matter-of-factly. She believed in me. She made myself believe in me. "Maybe she's right," I remember thinking, "maybe I could actually run with a triple stroller."

Summer 2013 Triple Run.

One year later and I realize that triple stroller was the change. It made the change. And it whipped my body into shape faster than I ever could have imagined. I remember the pain I felt last year running that hilly loop, begging my quads to get me to the top of each climb, praying that my lungs don't bleed out at that moment. I also remember the bliss and the peacefulness that I felt. I remember realizing for the first time that "Running makes me a better mother."

Running does make me a better mother. It is my anti-depressant, my daily dose of feel good, life is good, I can do this. Without this triple stroller and without running, who knows what the past year would have brought. Would we have survived? Yes. Would it have been the best year of my life? Certainly not.

Last year I suffered on the trail. Today it was a peaceful, leg-opening jaunt. But still, it wasn't easy. It's never easy. And "It never gets any easier, you just get faster." So it is with child-rearing, it never gets any easier, you just get better (at handling the emotions, at keeping your cool, at being patient, at knowing what they need, at wiping bottoms, at wiping tears, at loving, at being you). What are you getting better at?

Nearly five years of being a mother and still learning and improving every day.

Exploring

By nature, I am a creature of habit. Most other distance runners are too, I believe. It's something in our blood. With endless miles of dirt roads and trails within running-minutes from our house, I have to admit that I haven't explored much beyond my own backyard.

Littlest one takes a hiking break mid-run.

Most of us are Type A, a bit neurotic, beastly when we miss a run. Angsty and spirited, we need to expel that extra energy, returning it back to the earth with each stride. We are also explorers, always on the lookout for that perfect trail, that majestic view, that endorphin high that greets us so extravagantly at the end.

By nature, I am also very much a loner. I love returning from a run without spotting a single sole. There is some magic in being out there alone, suffering and working while you know everyone else is resting in the comfort of their homes. As much as I seek solitude in life and in running, sometimes, company is just what I need. On Saturday morning I ran with two trail running, ultra-marathon, young-child raising, amazing parents and people. These two introduced me to new trails and a whole new perspective. After traversing 9 miles of gorgeous single-tracks in the Las Virgenes mountains, I was left hungry. Hungry for more exploration, more shared miles with training partners and kindred spirits. Hungry for more stories and inspiration from these runners whom have covered many more miles than my legs or lungs have ever experienced. Hungry for knowledge of endurance. Really, my mind can't quite grasp how one can run 50 or 100 miles. Hungry for more trails. My body and brain used to be blessed with that endorphin high after only 30 minutes of running. Soon it grew to 60, then 90 then multiple hours. Now I find myself wanting more and more, needing more and more. Two hours on the trails seem to defy the laws or relativity and I am not yet ready to be done. So it is with distance runners. That is how the mountains pull you in, I find myself thinking.

Alas, I have three little ones that need me and there comes that point during each solo run (non-stroller run), that I know I must return back home. I am lucky to have them, though, as they bless me with balance. Without these kids I might very well go over the edge. It's funny to think that my kids set my curfew. Truth be told, they do set my running curfew. I can't run for hours and hours or do double days frequently, though they do happen on especially stressful days when I simply need a second run with the kids to handle the demands of the kids.

"The Triple." Thank goodness my nearly-5-year-old still weighs a mere 31 lbs.

When out running with the stroller, I know that 60 minutes is about their max. So most days we do 60. Much more than that and things can get ugly. Pushing 150+ lbs (uphill) with screaming children is not so pleasant. Many of you have experienced this and for those whom have never run with a yelling child, take my word, you are not missing out. One Saturday or Sunday each week I am usually able to negotiate some alone time to sneak out early morning for two hours. Any more than that and my partner feels neglected. We get so little family time or alone spousal time as it is with long work hours and early bedtimes, so two hours is sufficient and still retains the delicate balance.

But really this is the life, these days spent exploring mountainous trails and running wild, skipping and gliding over rocky technical trails and wild descents. Dirt sock lines and sticky sunscreen arms. Playing in nature's playground. Running and eating and playing and repeat. Both with the triple and alone, these are the days I love.

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.