Up Gravel Roads

Last weekend marked my fourth year running the Market 2 Market relay--a 78-mile race from the city of Omaha to the city of Lincoln.

It's a hell of a day.

You get up early, grab your running shoes, lots of water, toilet paper (for the porta-potties), the best and worst carbs available--i.e. gazads of peanut M+Ms, kettle chips, mint Milanos, good tunes, a change of clothes and if you're in a car with me, well, your strong constitution--I like to curse and tell stories that involve the word vagina and basically, how much I smell like one post my portions of the race.

Over the course of 12 hours, 8 people jump in and out of a vehicle as they take turns running their hearts out for 3, 4, and 5 mile staged legs, while their counter parts feverishly drive to the next exchange point to tag out a new runner.

I ran three legs.

It was the second one that nearly broke me.

I only had to run 4 miles...not a big deal.

But something happened as it got closer to my time to grab the baton.  I thought I was going to throw up.  I started to sweat and make stupid jokes.  I told my teammates that they could stay in the car...I'd be okay to see myself off.  It was as though my intuition knew that this run was going to be a bitch and I, its baby.

The sun was beating down and as my partner tagged me in, I rounded the bend onto a gravel road and four miles of fucking mental discipline ensued.

Let me begin by saying that I hate back, gravel roads.  They're uneven.  Cars drive on them and relentlessly kick dust into your eyes, face, mouth and lungs.  That's when they're flat.

I was on a never-ending up hill battle with a gravel road that was winning.

Even though I meticulously customize my playlist, my songs were even letting me down.  To top it off, a mile and half in, I saw the kiss of death...fellow runners started slowing down and then walking...while phenomenal athletes were passing me by with a cavalier thumbs up and a "way to go!" cheer.  Fuck me.

Just as I began to lose faith, I turned to see a giant cornfield butted up against a crystal blue sky, and a group of cows hanging out in the distance enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon.  And it dawned on me.

Within the same day, hour, minute, moment, we're all here.  The sun, the sky, the cow, the walker, the sprinter, the grass, the trees, the corn, me...we all get to occupy the same space in the same plane simultaneously.  And while we take up room and experience all of it....we can endure it as a battle or we can sit in it and take it in for what it is, or we can transcend it and find the beauty in the blue, the cool air, the brilliant sun, the sweat, the strong legs, the gorgeousness and moment of a Saturday.

And so, I slowed down--way down.

And I looked around and gave thanks.

It was Saturday.  And I was blessed to spend the whole day seeing lots of countryside, small towns and people focused on their fitness, running with friends for lots of causes and many reasons.

This was a time of celebration and joy, even if it hurt.

In my final leg, I was running as the sun went down, watching the leaves fall from the trees, realizing that change is on the horizon and that in each moment, I have a choice as to how I receive it.

I can bemoan it, or I can accept it and find the places where it enhances me instead of threatens me.

And I can recognize that I am not alone.

We are all tagging each other on this journey...sharing a baton, encouraging through words, humor, hope, forgiveness and love....promising that even if we're scared to go on our portion, that there will be a cow or two along the path, the sun in the sky, the guy who tells you to "keep up the good work," and the belief that even if it's painful, it will end.  And you will be better for heading up the gravel road.

Moments after my leg, my fellow teammate, took this photo of me as I was scarfing down food, re-reading a note I wrote to myself as a reminder that I can do it one moment, one mile, one breath at a time.  It's one of my favorite memories from the day.  Along with the pics of the best partners a girl could ask for.  Here's to baton passing along the journey...

Choices From My Eyes and Yours

I pride myself on taking the high road.

Particularly, when it comes to my kids.

I bite my tongue and pick my battles more often than not.

But this morning was a whirlwind of converging shit storm factors that led my 4-year old and I into a raging battle of the wills.

To be fair, I will preface my commentary by admitting that I had no business getting up at 4:30am to take a boot camp class.  It's a fucking miracle that I didn't kill myself or the girl standing next to me.  Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, my mouth was as wide as the room yawning.

So when she came bounding out of her bedroom wrapped up in a kitty blanket demanding chocolate milk, I will admit that my patience was at an all-time low.

Kindly stirring the syrup into the milk, I asked her to get dressed for school.  Returning in a summer get-up (which is probably again my fault for not cleaning out her closet), I told her to look outside at the rain and reminded that she needed something warmer to which she shrieked, "I'll wear what I want.  It's my school."

Fine, 'freeze' was my first thought.

And somewhere between her bitchy response and my internal one, we found ourselves screaming at the top of our lungs about striped tights, yogurt or bananas for breakfast, brushing teeth with the paste that she says tastes horrible and getting out the door without 50 billion stuffed animal friends.

I drop kicked her ass out of the car and cheered the whole way home.

Until pick up, when she shouted to her friends, "Goodbye Suckers!  My mom's here."  Standing mortified, she barreled out of the joint and ran directly into the parking lot, nearly getting hit by a mini-van, while all of the mothers dutifully holding their children's hands nearly had a heart attack.

Screaming again in the car, I howled, "Do you want to be squished like a squirrel?  You can't run away from mama...you're turning 5 in a few short weeks.  You know better."

To which she replied, "Can we swing through Starbucks and grab a vanilla bean frapuccino before ballet?"

With a primal squeal, I glared, "Are you kidding me?  Absolutely not.  I'm not rewarding poor behavior." 

Two minutes later, she started to cry and said, "Why do you always get everything YOU want?"

And that is where my story officially begins, the moment that I lost it.

I'll paraphrase because I'm fairly certain that I blacked out and was replaced by my inner wounded child or a demonic presence....

"Everything I want?!!!  I absolutely do NOT get everything I want.  Not even remotely.  Do you know what it means to be an adult?  To have to make choices that have real consequences and to sacrifice for the greater good of the family...to have to decide how to be a good steward of your time and money and energy all the while second guessing whether you could have done it differently or better while being mindful that you're not getting any younger and that the clock is ticking."

Approaching a stop light, I looked in the rear view mirror at a little girl with tears in her eyes.

Epic motherhood fail.

Pulling into the driveway, I turned around and said, "I know you think it's easy to be a mommy and that I tell you things to do all of the time and get to have dessert when I want and tell you that you can't.  But the truth is that sometimes, well a lot of times, it's just as hard to be your mommy as you feel like it is to be the kid.  Maybe we should say that we're sorry to each other and try again?"

She smiled, gave me a hug, hopped inside, changed into her ballet leotard and from her room screamed, "Can we still go to Starbucks?"

Ah, the joys.