Three ice cubes and 50 ounces of water in a Camelbak.
Three pockets of Espresso Gu and 8 Sports Beans.
This is my standard fuel reserve for an 8-13 mile training run.
An ipod with a playlist. A Garmin monitoring my heart rate, elevation, distance and speed per mile.
Short shorts. A tank. Running shoes. Colorful wool socks. And lip gloss...pink, shiny gloss to be exact.
It's a routine that transpires every Saturday morning.
I run through parks, neighborhoods, down busy streets, up hills, under overpasses, along side cyclists, and try not to get hit by cars.
My music is obnoxiously loud and my heart is always pounding.
Today was hard. My hips hurt. My legs were tired. My mind was racing. And more than a handful of times, I wanted to bag it and call it a day.
But the thing that always stops me is that I've never done that before. I've never not (I love the use of double negatives) finished a run. And I always lean on precedent. I don't want to break the stride, literally.
So, I started telling myself a story about the woman I am, not the woman that I often apologize for being. I started visualizing strength and releasing of fear, doubt, guilt, indecision...because they're so useless anyway,
And then I caught a glimpse of myself on the side of a retail building and I was stunned. That's me. All strong and shit. How did that happen? When did I become that? Was I always that?
I'm a fan of power. Owning who you are and recognizing what you've earned. And not apologizing along the way.
Today's 10-miles taught me that good things come when you keep lacing up the shoes and doing what you know to be healthy in your life.
I really liked the reflection...the image of a powerful me. I think I'll keep running toward it.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Love Upon Demand
Exhausted.
Beat up from the feet up.
So tired that my eye balls hurt...and my hip, can't forget the new war wound. It must be that I get to test out pain in all parts of my body to determine that yes indeed, I want to be a runner, badly enough.
It also must mean that it's 4:00pm on a Friday afternoon that is cloudy, damp, and cool outside.
And then when I think about where the week went or better yet the day, I see her coat. It's red velvet and little, really little, hanging out by her shoes, her pigtail holders, and the back pack that she's been carrying around pretending that she's a big girl like her older sister.
And, it's the revolving plate of cookies. And the spelling test prep. And the talk about flag football and the fire truck that came to visit school. "Do we have two escape plans in case of an emergency?"
And it's the cub scout uniform crumpled up in the corner and the macaroni and cheese smooshed into the socks by the library book bag and the cobwebs that will not go away.
And it's "Mama...Mama...Mama...I'm here, hold me, love me, be available to me now or I'll explode."
And it's that feeling of wanting to curl up and be held by a force that will just take care of everything for you upon demand and your command that I get. I really get it. And it's not unreasonable. It's just that somehow we grow out of expecting it because it's not reliable or organic to every situation.
But right now, in this moment, I say simultaneously...bath, wine, nap, sushi, chocolate, love, breath...immediately.
Beat up from the feet up.
So tired that my eye balls hurt...and my hip, can't forget the new war wound. It must be that I get to test out pain in all parts of my body to determine that yes indeed, I want to be a runner, badly enough.
It also must mean that it's 4:00pm on a Friday afternoon that is cloudy, damp, and cool outside.
And then when I think about where the week went or better yet the day, I see her coat. It's red velvet and little, really little, hanging out by her shoes, her pigtail holders, and the back pack that she's been carrying around pretending that she's a big girl like her older sister.
And, it's the revolving plate of cookies. And the spelling test prep. And the talk about flag football and the fire truck that came to visit school. "Do we have two escape plans in case of an emergency?"
And it's the cub scout uniform crumpled up in the corner and the macaroni and cheese smooshed into the socks by the library book bag and the cobwebs that will not go away.
And it's "Mama...Mama...Mama...I'm here, hold me, love me, be available to me now or I'll explode."
And it's that feeling of wanting to curl up and be held by a force that will just take care of everything for you upon demand and your command that I get. I really get it. And it's not unreasonable. It's just that somehow we grow out of expecting it because it's not reliable or organic to every situation.
But right now, in this moment, I say simultaneously...bath, wine, nap, sushi, chocolate, love, breath...immediately.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
The Change of the Leaves and Me
I remember walking at this time last year.
The leaves were doing that magical thing that they do claiming all of their vibrant autumnal colors and making the landscape so inviting.
You know how it goes down. One day it's cold. One day it's unseasonably warm.
And you're mindful that like a good thing, it can only last so long, before the leaves will all be crunched, the trees will be barren and the winter will set in.
Last year at this time, I was in a remarkably different spot. Overweight. Tired most days. Nursing an infant and trying to manage the "zone defense" life that is raising three kids.
This year, I feel changed. As strange as it is to say, I'm not afraid of the cold. In fact, I'm kind of excited about the first snow. I'm eager to see how my winter weather running gear holds up to the harsh temperatures and to the challenge of staying fit in the face of shorter days and less sunlight.
I'm also hopeful for continual transformation. Because everything happens in due time, right. It happens when we're ready to accept it, to put in the work, and to integrate it into our lives permanently.
My hunch is that my running is only going to become more and more a part of my life and that I'll delight in the snow crunching against my shoes and the well deserved hot toddy that ensues after a long trek.
The change of the seasons seems like the perfect time to assess the direction that I'm moving...and I think the consensus is that I need to keep on keeping on.
The leaves were doing that magical thing that they do claiming all of their vibrant autumnal colors and making the landscape so inviting.
You know how it goes down. One day it's cold. One day it's unseasonably warm.
And you're mindful that like a good thing, it can only last so long, before the leaves will all be crunched, the trees will be barren and the winter will set in.
Last year at this time, I was in a remarkably different spot. Overweight. Tired most days. Nursing an infant and trying to manage the "zone defense" life that is raising three kids.
This year, I feel changed. As strange as it is to say, I'm not afraid of the cold. In fact, I'm kind of excited about the first snow. I'm eager to see how my winter weather running gear holds up to the harsh temperatures and to the challenge of staying fit in the face of shorter days and less sunlight.
I'm also hopeful for continual transformation. Because everything happens in due time, right. It happens when we're ready to accept it, to put in the work, and to integrate it into our lives permanently.
My hunch is that my running is only going to become more and more a part of my life and that I'll delight in the snow crunching against my shoes and the well deserved hot toddy that ensues after a long trek.
The change of the seasons seems like the perfect time to assess the direction that I'm moving...and I think the consensus is that I need to keep on keeping on.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Running For You...And You...And You
It was cold.
The high was in the forties and I wasn't ready to put on my shoes and make a go of 9 miles.
I had a cold...one of those phlegmy, snotty, feverish sort of chest colds that makes you want to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for yourself.
Except I'd been playing that card for the last three days...and so, it was time to suck it up.
I pulled out the winter apparel...ear band, gloves, capris and decided that I would give it my best.
At the beginning of my run, it hit me. I would dedicate segments of my run to friends/family members who are in need.
As the hills got steeper, the north wind became more biting, and the desire to throw in the towel grew greater, I would use these stories as beacons...a way to see my way through. And in some sort of masochistic way, I prayed that as my pain became more intense, theirs would lessen. Weird, I know.
My first three miles went to a dear friend...probably one of the strongest, most inspiring women I know. Mesmerized by her ability to keep it all together raising a brood of four boys while under duress and constant friction at home...she encourages that all things are possible if you believe, put a little elbow grease into it, and laugh with the world.
The next three miles went to a friend who shared coffee with me that morning...staring down an unknown path in her marriage and raising her daughter potentially on her own...I prayed that she would know she's not alone. Ever.
The last three miles went to another sweet, off-the-charts amazing friend whom I look up to on a daily basis. I prayed that she would know that she's an incredible mother, a dedicated wife, a ridiculously available friend, and an incredible nurse. And that someday, one day, all of the answers will fall into place.
But my last mile...well, that was mine. Because the last mile turned into an unexpected 10th mile. I prayed for grace, kindness, trust and a belief that all is well and that I am enough. Always.
It was quite the experience. Definitely much more than a run.
The high was in the forties and I wasn't ready to put on my shoes and make a go of 9 miles.
I had a cold...one of those phlegmy, snotty, feverish sort of chest colds that makes you want to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for yourself.
Except I'd been playing that card for the last three days...and so, it was time to suck it up.
I pulled out the winter apparel...ear band, gloves, capris and decided that I would give it my best.
At the beginning of my run, it hit me. I would dedicate segments of my run to friends/family members who are in need.
As the hills got steeper, the north wind became more biting, and the desire to throw in the towel grew greater, I would use these stories as beacons...a way to see my way through. And in some sort of masochistic way, I prayed that as my pain became more intense, theirs would lessen. Weird, I know.
My first three miles went to a dear friend...probably one of the strongest, most inspiring women I know. Mesmerized by her ability to keep it all together raising a brood of four boys while under duress and constant friction at home...she encourages that all things are possible if you believe, put a little elbow grease into it, and laugh with the world.
The next three miles went to a friend who shared coffee with me that morning...staring down an unknown path in her marriage and raising her daughter potentially on her own...I prayed that she would know she's not alone. Ever.
The last three miles went to another sweet, off-the-charts amazing friend whom I look up to on a daily basis. I prayed that she would know that she's an incredible mother, a dedicated wife, a ridiculously available friend, and an incredible nurse. And that someday, one day, all of the answers will fall into place.
But my last mile...well, that was mine. Because the last mile turned into an unexpected 10th mile. I prayed for grace, kindness, trust and a belief that all is well and that I am enough. Always.
It was quite the experience. Definitely much more than a run.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Blessed to be Doing what I'm Doing
Most of you know that my parents divorced when I was little.
Four to be exact and my brother was two weeks old.
My mom was hard pressed to make sure that we had dinner on the table, parent permission slips signed, and a ride home from school.
So, activities like Daisy Scouts, ballet, and gymnastics really were not on her purview or remotely in the budget.
It was last night in the middle of kicking off a Daisy Scout parent meeting that it hit me, I am extraordinarily blessed.
I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to provide this gift to my daughter. I am thankful that it is me that picks up my children each day from school and walks them through their homework in the afternoons.
I am mindful that our time together in this way is limited and unique to the ages that they are. And so for the time being, we live in a small house, drive older vehicles, and make it work on one income.
My hope is that as we look back and as they remember their childhoods that they will know that we were there. Mama helped them to earn their badges (as did my husband who is the Cubscout Leader), walked them through their spelling tests, crunched leaves with them, and snorted chocolate milk out our noses as we made bubbles in our cups.
Life is short. No matter how hard it is, I'm thankful that I get to spend my hours and days making these memories.
Four to be exact and my brother was two weeks old.
My mom was hard pressed to make sure that we had dinner on the table, parent permission slips signed, and a ride home from school.
So, activities like Daisy Scouts, ballet, and gymnastics really were not on her purview or remotely in the budget.
It was last night in the middle of kicking off a Daisy Scout parent meeting that it hit me, I am extraordinarily blessed.
I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to provide this gift to my daughter. I am thankful that it is me that picks up my children each day from school and walks them through their homework in the afternoons.
I am mindful that our time together in this way is limited and unique to the ages that they are. And so for the time being, we live in a small house, drive older vehicles, and make it work on one income.
My hope is that as we look back and as they remember their childhoods that they will know that we were there. Mama helped them to earn their badges (as did my husband who is the Cubscout Leader), walked them through their spelling tests, crunched leaves with them, and snorted chocolate milk out our noses as we made bubbles in our cups.
Life is short. No matter how hard it is, I'm thankful that I get to spend my hours and days making these memories.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
It's Just The Period Talking
Like it's my job, I'm a religious charter.
Of my period that is. My menstrual cycle, my anticipated visit from Aunt Flo, my monthly reminder that I am indeed without child.
And so I'm very aware of how it all goes down. The days leading up to the premenstrual lunacy that is about to ensue.
But even though I'm completely experienced in the whole deal, I am still 100% taken aback by how much I HATE...triple fucking...HATE, HATE, HATE my period.
Bloated, crampy, irritable, fatigued, hormonal, and frequently irrational is not even the half of it.
I am one mean, in-your-face screaming, crying, over-the-top raging bee-yatch.
Exhibit number one...I can not, I mean can not deal with slow service people. And by service, I mean the only service that I indulge in...Starbucks. So, yesterday, when I needed some caffeine and had a 20 minute window to get it in between slamming 15 grocery items in a cart, comforting a teething toddler and trying to get back to pick up my daughter from ballet....
I had NO time, patience, or interest in watching the Starbucks barista at Target gently sprinkle the Pumpkin spice on top of a patron's latte. Bitch...just give me the iced coffee before I cut your throat. I modified that so that I could write it in my blog. Much worse in real life.
Exhibit number two...my kids. "Mama...why do I have to do a spelling quiz every day after school? Come on." Because it's 15 God damn words and you will get an A + in this subject if it's the death of me. Now sit your ass down and write. I didn't give up a career and back burner my graduate degree to hear your whiny little ass moan and groan. Suck it up. That was modified as well.
Exhibit number three..me to my husband. "Damn it! Why do I always incessantly look like I'm 3 months pregnant? Fat Ass Anonymous here I come." To which he simply shakes his head and I say, "I know that look...you're trying to figure out how to not answer the question, so that you don't have to admit that I am a fat ass. Well fuck you too." Yep, another slight modification.
As I lament these period trials and tribulations to my girlfriends, they all echo the same sentiment, "Yep, that's just the period talking."
Well, shut the fuck up, period. You're not welcome here anymore.
Whew, I feel better. Now, where's the chocolate?
Of my period that is. My menstrual cycle, my anticipated visit from Aunt Flo, my monthly reminder that I am indeed without child.
And so I'm very aware of how it all goes down. The days leading up to the premenstrual lunacy that is about to ensue.
But even though I'm completely experienced in the whole deal, I am still 100% taken aback by how much I HATE...triple fucking...HATE, HATE, HATE my period.
Bloated, crampy, irritable, fatigued, hormonal, and frequently irrational is not even the half of it.
I am one mean, in-your-face screaming, crying, over-the-top raging bee-yatch.
Exhibit number one...I can not, I mean can not deal with slow service people. And by service, I mean the only service that I indulge in...Starbucks. So, yesterday, when I needed some caffeine and had a 20 minute window to get it in between slamming 15 grocery items in a cart, comforting a teething toddler and trying to get back to pick up my daughter from ballet....
I had NO time, patience, or interest in watching the Starbucks barista at Target gently sprinkle the Pumpkin spice on top of a patron's latte. Bitch...just give me the iced coffee before I cut your throat. I modified that so that I could write it in my blog. Much worse in real life.
Exhibit number two...my kids. "Mama...why do I have to do a spelling quiz every day after school? Come on." Because it's 15 God damn words and you will get an A + in this subject if it's the death of me. Now sit your ass down and write. I didn't give up a career and back burner my graduate degree to hear your whiny little ass moan and groan. Suck it up. That was modified as well.
Exhibit number three..me to my husband. "Damn it! Why do I always incessantly look like I'm 3 months pregnant? Fat Ass Anonymous here I come." To which he simply shakes his head and I say, "I know that look...you're trying to figure out how to not answer the question, so that you don't have to admit that I am a fat ass. Well fuck you too." Yep, another slight modification.
As I lament these period trials and tribulations to my girlfriends, they all echo the same sentiment, "Yep, that's just the period talking."
Well, shut the fuck up, period. You're not welcome here anymore.
Whew, I feel better. Now, where's the chocolate?
Monday, October 1, 2012
Get Comfortable With Being Uncomfortable
When you've been around the block a few times, you know that pain is a given.
You recognize that what you expected to go down is not...and after anger, tears, bargaining and ultimately, surrender, you get that life's not fair.
And that maturity is simply the state you find yourself in when you accept reality gracefully.
So, it was with an extreme lack of character, grace, and maturity that I attempted to do hill training last Saturday morning.
I'm preparing for a half marathon in six weeks and am keenly aware of how much work lies ahead of me. The course is hilly to say the least and my legs, ass, and least of all my head is in the game when it comes to going up and down for 13.1 miles.
But while I was running, I was simultaneously aware of how it doesn't matter...most of it at least. I spend a good chunk of time worried about the balance in the checking account, questioning if I'm doing the right thing by staying at home, fearful that my kids will be jacked up if they don't live on a street with lots of kids or play club soccer.
And in the end, these "worries" will all take care of themselves. And like hill training, life is simply a series of ebbs and flows; peaks and valleys; good times and bad. In theory, it's how we recognize the seasons. We can't appreciate the wind in our hair and the cool breeze of the sweet spots unless we feel the pain in our ass, the stitch in our side, and the overwhelming heaviness of breath.
I'm learning, truly learning what it means to get comfortable with being uncomfortable, uncertain, and fearful.
It's painful, but it's doable. And ultimately, it's real.
You recognize that what you expected to go down is not...and after anger, tears, bargaining and ultimately, surrender, you get that life's not fair.
And that maturity is simply the state you find yourself in when you accept reality gracefully.
So, it was with an extreme lack of character, grace, and maturity that I attempted to do hill training last Saturday morning.
I'm preparing for a half marathon in six weeks and am keenly aware of how much work lies ahead of me. The course is hilly to say the least and my legs, ass, and least of all my head is in the game when it comes to going up and down for 13.1 miles.
But while I was running, I was simultaneously aware of how it doesn't matter...most of it at least. I spend a good chunk of time worried about the balance in the checking account, questioning if I'm doing the right thing by staying at home, fearful that my kids will be jacked up if they don't live on a street with lots of kids or play club soccer.
And in the end, these "worries" will all take care of themselves. And like hill training, life is simply a series of ebbs and flows; peaks and valleys; good times and bad. In theory, it's how we recognize the seasons. We can't appreciate the wind in our hair and the cool breeze of the sweet spots unless we feel the pain in our ass, the stitch in our side, and the overwhelming heaviness of breath.
I'm learning, truly learning what it means to get comfortable with being uncomfortable, uncertain, and fearful.
It's painful, but it's doable. And ultimately, it's real.
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