Life in the Gray

I've never identified much with folks who find themselves living in the black or the white.

You know what I mean...those who absolutely do this and who absolutely will not do that.

Instead, almost always, I gravitate toward the gray.  There are very few situations where I draw definitive lines in the sand with no room to negotiate or to dialogue and 99.9% of those examples revolve around the advocacy or protection of my children.

But I must say, that I yearn to be them.  It seems like a safe, stable, predictable way to be...where one is in their head very little of the time, content in the knowledge that regardless of comfort, this is where they should be.  Almost like having a playbook for the multitude of sticky scenarios that life throws our way.

And so it was, on a recent outing with girlfriends and their littles, that I found myself opening up about all of the hidden words, feelings, fears that innately women knee-deep in the trenches of motherhood and marriage find themselves in.

Afraid to honestly explore the issues that seem to bubble to the surface but quickly get dismissed out of social norms and quite frankly the things we do and don't say in polite conversation....I was both grateful and elated that my friends rose to the occasion.  We got to somersault in the gray...free of judgement, exempt of the shoulds and the shouldn'ts. 

And as we each shared our tales...examples of what's working and what's not...what we can wrap our heads around and what still alludes us...it became alarmingly clear that the world is messy...marriage and child rearing is raw, ugly, beautiful, painful, fraught with humanness through and through.

And that ultimately, what we need more in the world are less lines in the sand and more appreciation and understanding for the challenges of navigating through it all.  Because as the politically correct walls and barriers came crashing down, the flood of emotions emerged and we all realized that we're not alone.  Shame is a useless emotion.  And that it takes a village or at the very least, a collection of people who welcome you back into the fold when you've discarded yourself out of guilt or fear.

So while living my life in the gray is exhausting.  It feels real, authentic, engaging, and well, more like me...even if it's just one play at a time.

A Chance Encounter in the Steam Room

I'm not the kind of girl who walks around the locker room nude.

In fact, I rarely undress at the gym and almost never take a shower.

I run, row, stair step, take classes, lift, swim, stretch and leave.

The most space I take up is a locker and sometimes, use of the lavatory and a quick spritz of deoderant.

So, it was odd last week when I decided to take a yoga class and indulge in the steam room.

Working through a running injury and feeling stressed with my three kiddos, I decided to fully embrace my time away from home.  After a challenging yoga regimen, I stripped, grabbed a towel and headed into the steam.  I was the only one there and it was nice to close my eyes, tilt my head back and ponder all the crazy thoughts that consumed my being.  After a few tears thinking about marathon training, I decided to lay down on the bench and take in the moment.

And then, the door opened.

I kept my eyes closed, but heard a voice say (visualize east coast), "AHHHH....It's GUORRGEOUS in here....Do you mind if I kick it up a notch?"

"Uh, no," I said...not really sure how you kick it up a notch.  But after a few sprays of water, the room got really steamy...like you can't see your hand in front of you.

And so, I just kept my eyes closed and kept pondering how to let go and lean into the place I'm at in my life.

And then, I started to hear creaking and then rocking and then, yes, moaning. 

And naively, I assumed that like a massage, she was simply settling into the relaxation of the moment, until the light bulb went off and it hit me.  Holy shit...she's well, taking care of herself.

It was in that moment that I froze.

Sweet Mary, Joseph and Saint Jude.  What the fuck?  Um...how do I get out of here?  And that's when I decided to count to 100, jump up, grab my towel and run into the shower.  While showering off the sweat and feeling a little PTSD, I thought, "what in the hell was that?  my imagination?  no, no...that was, well, I don't even know."

What do you do when crazy ass, out of the blue experiences happen to you?  Stand paralyzed?  Run?  Speak up?  Confront?  Laugh?  Join in?

Holy Hell...my eyes are definitively wide open.  Everyone has a different level of comfort at the gym.  I'll have to work on mine.

Let Go and Lean In

Two weeks ago I was scheduled to start training for my first marathon race.

And sort of like clock work, I had to admit that I was injured...a chronic injury that I'd been ignoring probably for several weeks, okay, more like several months.  It allowed me to get through training for a half marathon and also to endure a fun, but exhausting 78-mile relay run. 

Suffering from heel pain, I started consulting the world...asking fellow mother running friends, triathletes, physicians, orthotic folks, and physical therapists.  After an epic fail physically and financially with orthotics, I got back to basics and started stretching and doing the work to get better.

And low and behold, slowly, but surely, I am healing.

The marathon is 24 weeks from today, so in theory, I should be okay...I suppose as long as I don't get injured again.

And so to try to minimize future injuries and to get stronger and leaner, I'm revamping the way I workout.  Incorporating more yoga classes and body resistance training with the hope that my running will get faster and my endurance will be greater.

And so it was at the end of a yoga class, after trying to contort my body into the 'Bird of Paradise' pose that I listened to powerful words from my instructor...

Lying on my back, palms open wide, eyes closed, right ear to the mat in the darkness, I heard:

"Remember that the natural state of the body is health and the natural state of the mind is happiness.  Honor that."

And I wanted to cry.

Wound tightly most of the time, I'm always trying to do so much.  And to be fair, I know that it's not just me.  Almost every woman struggles to enjoy life.  We're consumed with making sure that everyone has everything they need all of the time.  It's how we're wired as wives, mothers, daughters, friends, neighbors.  We seek to serve and to nurture, most often, at the cost of ourselves.  And then, one day, our own health and happiness has been compromised.  And we justify it because it's for a good cause.  Making sure that our loved ones have what they need makes us feel useful and brings a sense of joy...until, it doesn't and we're sick and tired, literally.

After the class, I sat in the steam room and through deep breaths, let the tears flow and remembered another mantra that the yoga instructor said, "You must practice letting go."  Words that seem impossible, improbable, and maybe even to an extent irresponsible.

But really, in this life, what do we control?  The truth is nothing.  It's all illusory.  It's all temporary.  And the harder we cling, the quicker it disintegrates.

The trick must be to choose the experience for experience sake and not exclusively for the purpose of the outcome.  Trust that organically the body seeks to be free from disease, most notably from stress-induced behaviors and that the mind seeks to be free from worry and guilt, so that it can thrive and elevate toward joy and happiness.

This information will be pivotal as I start to train for my first marathon race, which will certainly be more challenging mentally than physically.  My prayer is that I can let go and lean in to all that it has to offer.

Reticent Dreaming

Part of the human condition is to dream...to fantasize...to wonder what's next or to question what could be.

At least I'm hoping that's the case.

My incessant Catholic guilt often puts a damper on my dreaming making me reticent to question my current life station...as if dreaming poses a slap in the face to all of my blessings...which then, promptly makes me stop and just be grateful for what I've been given.

But rarely am I not grateful for the place I find myself in...I just wonder what I would be doing if I wasn't grocery shopping, folding towels, singing to my babies or supervising homework.  And these thoughts aren't intended to detract from the gift of being a stay-at-home mother, they're (I'm hoping) the natural exploration of the full self.  i.e who am I when I'm not mothering or what will my passion become when my children are grown?

Most of my teen to early adult life was consumed with being consumed.  I thrived on being busy.  Heading up school/campus organizations/clubs.  Working to pay for ancillary school needs.  Volunteering in my community.  Studying.  Running.  And reading...voraciously reading.

And then, I got married and forty weeks later, I became a mother.  Instantly, my focus became as clear as a pin point and my mental and physical energy grew increasingly more limited and finite. 
There was no more disposable income or personal time.  Manicures, pedicures, travel, online shopping, fine dining...all of the extras were discarded for the promise of time with my little ones.

And now, it's changing.  In a few short months, my youngest child will turn three and my oldest will turn nine...I will have a third-grader, a first-grader, and a soon to be preschooler.  My days of changing diapers, making bottles, and midnight feedings have gone by the wayside and I'm left to wonder, what about me?  What do I want next?

My graduate degree is in Conflict Resolution which means that I'm pretty good with other people's differences, but pretty lousy with my own.  I like conflict.  It's interesting...not in a melodrama(y) sort of way, but rather in a everyone gets to have a difference of opinion, how do we find common ground sort of way. I could do that.  Mediate.  Maybe put back on a suit. 

Since being at home, I've sold jewelry for a really fabulous company.  I could continue to do that.

I'm passionate about running and seeing people reach their personal dreams.  I could maybe send personal messages of inspiration or train off to the side.

I also harbor a strong love for the written word and yearn to write seriously.  I could potentially probe that possibility.

But on days like today, when the house is cluttered, the dishes need to be put away, I've got to pick up the kids in a few short minutes, dinner still needs to be made, homework needs to be supervised, and laundry is piling up...the only energy I have is to dream...sporadically...reticently...hopefully...trusting that when the day comes to jump without regret for the choices I made in my thirties believing that there's always a tomorrow.

"Fall"ing Into More Committed Running

The past few weeks have been a bit of a blur.

I ran my local half marathon race toward the end of September and then, had the privilege and absolute blast of a time running a Market-to-Market race...a 78-mile relay from one city to the next with six other women.  I cannot wait to do it again next year!  Below are a few pics.

Since I started running seriously almost two years ago, my goal has simply been to complete the mileage...to tick off the distance in a training plan and to cross the finish line in a race.  Now that I've run five half marathons, a long-distance relay, and various other fun runs, I want to be more committed...stronger, faster, and happier with consistently giving my personal best.

In two weeks, I'll start training for a marathon.  It's a huge goal on my bucket list.  And the thing is...I don't want to just finish it.  I want to do well.  I want to cross the finish line knowing that I put in the six months of training, that I honored my body...but I didn't give in to my fear.

It seems as though, I'm always afraid...of one thing or another.  Prior to my first half marathon race, I was afraid of collapsing after enduring injuries in the training process.  On a trail run, I was afraid of getting lost because I can't read a map to save my life and I have no pathfinder gene.  At the Market-to-Market relay, I was afraid of letting down my team mates because I consider myself a slow runner. And in life in general, I'm constantly worried about doing the right thing, making sure that my children always have everything they need, how my actions affect others...it's really exhausting.

And so, with this new journey, I want to dive into marathon training from a place of strength and not weakness.  I want to start believing that I can do this instead of assuming that I can't.  I want to trust that my body can go harder, longer and that I'll never know unless I try...and really, 38 isn't that old to be pushing myself, right?

And while I'm putting in all of those miles, I want to approach it all from a place of gratitude and joy.  Thankful that my legs can take me from one place to the next, that my heart and my mind continue to stay focused and that hopefully, my family will benefit from the stress release and the outlet that is mine.

I read this quote and it stuck...

"What distinguishes those of us at the starting line from those of us on the couch is that we learn through running to take what the days gives us, what our body will allow us, and what our will can tolerate."John Bingham,

So the real question is, what can my will tolerate?  My hope is a lot...snow, wind, cold, exhaustion, boredom, frustration, potential injury...so that come race day, I'll be prepared knowing that I've given it my everything.

Lessons Learned from my Cousin's Life, the Ironman Race & a High School Reunion

It's been an emotional two and half weeks.

I've had a hard time making sense of recent circumstances, but through my experiences, I've emerged stronger through involuntary lessons learned.  And I suppose, those are the most powerful.

Lesson number one: Acceptance.

After an 18-month courageous battle with Leukemia, my 15-year old cousin passed peacefully in his sleep and went to Heaven.  Since his diagnosis, I've been at war in my heart trying to process why a child should ever have to endure chemotherapy, writing his own will, saying goodbye to those he loves, and trusting that he's going to a better place without any real "proof" from anyone here on earth.  And yet, throughout all of his treatment, his trials and his heartache, his only request was that we remember that he loves us.

The day before he died, I was in Madison, Wisconsin.  I had made the trek with two of my besties to see our other friend make a dream come true.  She competed in an Ironman triatholon.  Which is essentially the race of freaking awesome, real deal, could kill you in your sleep athletes.  She woke up at 4:30am on race day, was in the water by 6:30am, swam 2.4 miles, then immediately biked 112 miles, quickly changed and ran a marathon.  Some 15-hours later, we were literally screaming our asses off at the finish line watching her achieve the unachievable.

And I learned then, after an amazing day of screaming affirmations, cheers, and positive self talk to as many athletes as I could that, the Ironman is simply an analogy for life....it's a test of the will...plain and simple.  There was no picture perfect "fit" entrant.  Because despite the name brand of your gear or the number of ripped abs on your belly, you can crash your bike, get a grueling cramp in the water, or dehydrate on the run course and then, well, you're done.  But for most of the athletes, the trick is to continually trick yourself that you can and that you will do this and then your vision eventually becomes your reality.

Lesson number two: consistent persistence pays off.

In the mix of all of this was also my 20-year high school reunion...an event that many of my close friends thought was probably a waste of time, but that I was really looking forward to.  Except that my cousin's funeral had been three hours prior and I spoke at the service.  By the time I arrived to see my blast from the past friends, it became very clear.  We're all the same.  At 38-years young, most of the pretense is gone.  People are really over what street you live on, what your business card says, and how hot your partner is or isn't.  Most people showed pictures of their kids, talked about how great it felt to see Facebook come alive and how thankful they were to have a babysitter so they could actually get out of the house.

Lesson number three: we're more similar than not.

So, at the end of the day, life is really for the living.  Celebrating my cousin's life, albeit cut way too short, was an incredible reminder that we only have one life here on this earth.  And the Ironman athletes taught me that you've gotta go for it.  Regret is just silly.  Go big or go home, literally. And in the mix of it all, my high school reunion illustrated a check point, a time of reflection to ask, "How's life treating you?  Are you being kind?  Are you taking risks?  Who can you help along the way?"

The truth is that there are no black and white answers.  There are more mysteries and whys then there are certainties.  But the one absolute is that we get one go around.  Let's be willing to crash our bikes and feel some pain, because the beauty of hearing "You are an Ironman" at the finish line is so worth it.

My Crazy Life

I've been a bit disoriented lately...scattered, not yet in a routine, trying to adjust to the school schedule and lots of concentrated one-on-one time with my two-year old daughter, Claire.

And so true to form, I've had these, "Are you fucking kidding me?" moments that well, just need to be written down.

The first occurred in the toy room of a Hospice center.  My 15-year old cousin is dying of Leukemia which is painful and really hard to witness.  And so, on a recent visit, I decided to take the smaller kiddos into the fun toy room while I took a moment to breathe and pray.  While sitting in the rocker in the corner, I observed the following conversation...oh, here's the back story...Kate, my six-year old daughter is playing the doctor and Lilly, my four-year old niece is playing the mommy leaning over a table with a doll baby.

"See, the problem is that you have a fake baby...yes, that's right...your baby is actually a robot.  It's ribs are waaaaayyyy too big.  I'm not sure that there's much we can do," says Kate.

"Oh God...Oh no...help my baby!!!, " replies Lilly.

To which, I nearly peed myself in laughter.

The next morning, I went on a 13-mile training run in preparation for my next half marathon race.  Feeling good about the weather, my pace, and in general, my endurance, I came home with a smile on my face.  After stripping down to dive into the tub, I realized that I had some nasty chaffing on my inner thigh...i.e. bikini line and thought I was going to die.  You know what a rug burn feels like?  Pretend it's nearly on top of your vagina...yeah, it sucked.  Until my husband suggested that I use neosporin and a bandaid.  That's right.  I put a fucking bandaid on my 'how ya doin' and when it was time to strip it off, I screamed like a fucking banchee making the neighbors think that a woman was being murdered.  Fuck me...don't ever do that.

The following afternoon, I took Claire (2.5) to the park to build sand castles.  After successfully creating four decent sized castles complete with a moat and twig decorations, she alerted all of the moms in the vicinity that she had a good sized amount of sand in her vagina.  Yes, it was as awkward as you're imagining.

After gracelessly exiting the park, we high tailed it to Target for a few items.  Hanging out in the check out lane, I smelled a huge pile of shit and realized that it was eminating from my daughter.  I quickly grabbed her and ran to the family changing room only to discover that I had no wet wipes or diapers in my purse.  I had to use her dress to sop up an unGodly amount of poop and then carry her out of the store naked.  It was a banner motherhood moment.

And then finally this morning after drinking wine last night with my girlfriends and running hard with a bit of a hang over, I settled into the toilet to do my business....upon which my six-year old daughter Kate barged in to brush her teeth and promptly said, "Oh God, mama...what's wrong with you...you need to get that checked out."

Beautiful.

I write these things so that you can feel better about you're own life.  I've decided to give up on any pretense of a Martha Stewart inspired life.  At this point, I'm just trying to survive and doing so by living on love.