"you can't always get what you want"

With the help of the knowledgeable world wide web, I have diagnosed myself with plantar fasciitis of the left heel. I've been blessed with feet that a ballerina would envy. Unfortunately, I am not nearly tall or skinny enough to be a white swan, so I'm left with high arches and a love for flat shoes. Not a good combination.

Thankfully, it doesn't hurt while running, but I can't walk around the house barefoot, and I've been googling ugly orthopedic shoes. It really is a shame that people with foot problems have to wear ugly shoes - and expensive ones at that. I've been rocking my Birkenstock sandals - the only downside is that it is February, and my feet get cold. I've been icing my heels, stretching my calves, and rolling a tennis ball under my arches. A fellow runner suggested I purchase a Strassburg sock to wear at night (see below).

 

 It stretches your calf, achilles, and heel while you sleep. Helpful, yes. Attractive, no. 

I've only been injured a handful of times during my running career. Occasional issues with shin splints (I used to saran wrap ice to my shins while I sat at my desk at work) and random knee trouble, but nothing that has kept me from running long term or affected my daily life. I'm hoping this heel nonsense won't come to that. Being injured is inconvenient. There are races I want to run - races I have already signed up for, and weight that I need to lose (Valentine's Day was a chocolate free-for-all and it hasn't really stopped). Once again, I'm being forced to take measure of my body and what it's telling me. Silly heel. I don't want to listen. I want to wear cute, flat shoes and have warm feet. That's not in the cards right now, but as long as I can rock the Shamrock hat I just ordered for the half marathon next month, I will be a happy girl.           

inspiring others through sweat

A couple of weeks ago, while running, I was pulled over. Yes, you read that right. I was pulled over by a police officer while running. Apparently, the police officer, while driving around our bustling metropolis had noticed me running. She wanted to let me know that I inspire her. A few weeks before that, while I was running with the kids, a woman stopped me at the library to tell me that every time she sees me running she says "God bless her!" Fast forward to a few days after that, when the cashier at our local supermarket asked if I had run yet that morning. And here I thought I was invisible. Oblivious to the fact that the entire town sees me sweating, spitting, blowing my nose into my shirt, and generally looking pathetic while running. Strangely, though, it doesn't seem that that's what they see. I think they see a woman who cares enough about herself and her sanity to hit the road running. A woman who won't skip a run just because her kids add an additional 65 lbs of weight to push.

I've cried while running (like all out bawling, head in hands, sobbing), sat on the ground in a breathless heap, sang songs at the top of my lungs, and jumped for joy. In short, all the emotions that people usually experience in the privacy of their home, I experience with an audience. I wouldn't have it any other way. When I run, my shoulders relax, my back gets a little straighter, and the stress just rolls away. I like the idea that people see that. Maybe they will be inspired to get out there and let the whole world see them sweat, cry, and smile through each mile.

Last night, my cousin, sent me a Facebook message to tell me that this blog has inspired her to start running again. She admitted that its been a slow process but that she is doing it. Is anyone else going to join us? Slap on those sneakers and get out there. Who knows who you can inspire?

running does a body good

I woke up in a cranky, stay-in-my-pajamas all day kind of mood this morning. I didn't want to go running, I didn't want to do anything. However, I was scheduled to run today and the need to maintain my routine would not allow me to stay on my couch huddled under an afghan. So off I went. It was the best run that I've had in awhile, made better by the fact I left my Garmin at home, so I have NO idea how fast I went or how long it took me. No expectations, no disappointments. I just ran. Slowed down when I felt my shin twinge, sped up when I wanted to avoid getting smashed by a car. It was only 3 miles, but as the tension and frustration melted away, I started to feel like a new person. That's what running does for me. It strips away the yuckiness, breaks down the "I can'ts" and the "I don't want to's" and gets me out of the house.

I can't imagine my life without running but I need to stop taking it so seriously. I'm not an elite athlete. I'm not running to put food on the table. If that were the case, we would have starved a long time ago. I run because it makes me happy. I run because it makes life less stressful. I'll probably wake up cranky tomorrow morning and hit snooze for an hour before I drag myself out of bed, but I will go running. I will go running, and it will make me feel better. Add in the benefits of cardiovascular activity and weight loss, and I'm pretty much set for life.                   

one foot in the grave

My left shin hurts. My left heel hurts. When I start my run I look like an old man who can't bend his knees. I'm only 30. Today I feel like I'm 80. 

All of this achy pain and the latest edition of Runner's World reminds me that just running isn't enough. I need to cross train. I need to do some other form of exercise that's not running. Easier said then done. I live in a 2 runner household which means we both have to find time to run without giving child protective services a reason to haul us to the clink. On days I don't run I sleep in. I know, I know. I should get up early and do yoga or some other workout while Seth is out running. I just can't do it. I love my bed. It's so comfy with that pillow top and down comforter. After the kids are in bed the only thing I want to do is veg out on the couch. I can't even bring myself to do a 10 minute ab video. If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would. 

I'm hurting because I've been pushing myself to run faster then I've run in a long time. This old lady can't handle the speed. I need to take my own advice (that I so willingly share with everyone else) and have an "easy" day. A run where I don't take my Garmin and pay attention to what my body is telling me. Right now, as I sit on my couch typing this, I'm hearing my body say "are you really going to get up early and run 9 miles tomorrow? Really Lauren? Really?" Poo on you lower half of my body. Get those ice packs ready because this old lady is going running!         

Panera better have the goods...

"Hi, I'm just calling to confirm my appointment. I haven't heard from the office and I thought it was for Wednesday...." "Hold on ... I'll be right with you." Keys clicking in the background. "How do you spell your last name again? Oh, ... here it is. Your appointment is on Thursday, February 2nd at 9 am." "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" throws phone down in anger.

If you would have asked me last week I would have sworn under oath that my GI appointment was for Wednesday. A day where Seth is home and I could make the 40 minute trip to the doctor's office by myself - with no children. I was so sure that I scheduled this appointment for Wednesday (after having cancelled 2 previous appointments) that I wrote it on my wipe board calendar on my fridge. I live by that calendar. If its not on the calendar its not happening. Unfortunately, my calendar, my precious calendar lied to me. My appointment is for tomorrow, on Thursday, at 9 am. 9 am. That means I need to get everyone up, fed, dressed, and out the door by 8:15.

As my readers will remember I loathe being late. Chances are pretty good that I'm going to be late tomorrow. I can just see it now: I will spend the 40 minutes in the car obsessively checking the clock, while trying to soothe at least 2 crying children with my melodic voice. Baby K will be hungry (have to feed her when we get to the office) and E will be aggravated that she's "stuck" in her car seat. W will ask "what's happening?" and tell them both to be quiet. It's enough to make you want to bang your head against the steering wheel.

We won't even discuss what's it going to be like with three kids in the waiting room and then in the exam room. If they mutiny the odds of me surviving aren't good. I only have one hand with which to defend myself.

Panera better have Asiago bagels tomorrow morning. That's all I'm going to say.

"all I do is win, win, win, no matter what"

Life with 4 kids during the day has been strangely uneventful. Everyone is getting fed, put in clothes by at least 9:30, and playing with age appropriate toys. I haven't had to use the television as a diversionary tactic yet so I'm chalking that up as a win. I somehow manage to find time to clean my house; of course, I only do one cleaning chore a day so that helps. Today was clean the hallway bathroom day. I cheated a little bit by not doing the floor but I figure I'll scrub it with twice as much vigor next week.

Yesterday was my first venture into the big, bad world with 3 kids. No one perished in the attempt so that's another win. We weren't late either which was a huge relief for me. I loathe being late. In fact, just thinking that I could be late makes me sweat and not in the good "I just exercised" kind of way. Before I had children, I was always at least 15 minutes early. Waiting doesn't bother me. Just knowing that I am where I am supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there makes me happy. Now, with kids, I'm just on time. Those little legs don't cover enough ground fast enough to allow us to be early. Although, when it's just W and I, we run from the car to wherever we're going (he thinks it's a game and I'm not going to dispel that notion).
Once, I tried to run holding his hand while carrying E, but I almost dropped her so now we kind of shuffle when we're on the go.

Motherhood pushes my boundaries. It constantly forces me to redefine who I am and what I'm capable of. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was extremely nervous about our trip out of the house. I'm obsessed with logistics. I had no idea how it was going to work between feedings, naps, and travel arrangements. When Seth told me that he could not come home and help, I wanted to cry. In the end, though, I'm glad that I had to deal with it on my own. Other then practically catapulting W headfirst into his seat, it went smoothly. I learned that any situation can be handled when I'm calm and somewhat ready to handle the possibility of being late. It helped that I got to drive Baby K's Dad's new car. It has a back up camera; that was pretty cool.

"Sugar and spice and everything nice"

In 2007, when I found out I was having a boy, I was momentarily flummoxed. I wasn't sure that I knew how to raise a boy. I have one sister and 6 girl cousins so girls I knew I could handle. Just dress them up in pink frilly dresses with black patent leather shoes and big bows and you're good to go (or at least that's what I had gleaned from my childhood). But boys? What do they play with? What kind of books do they read? That second question really troubled me. As an avid reader, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to share my childhood favorites ("Anne of Green Gables", "A Little House in the Big Woods") with my little boy. Thankfully, God blessed me with a little boy who not only loves cars, trucks, dinosaurs, and basketball but loves his Mom enough to humor her about her book choices.

The second time around I was excited to be find out we were having a girl. One of each! Finally, someone to buy pink things for! Cute headbands, fancy pants underwear and pink, pink, pink and more pink! I'm sure I thought my daughter was going to be a gentle, dainty, little flower. Well, 15 months later, my daughter looks amazing in pink and wears those frilly dresses with no complaint but she is no gentle flower. She is bold, funny, and turns the iPod on so she can dance. She knows she's cute and uses it to her advantage. When its time for her bottle she hides behind the table and peeks around the corner to see if you're looking. She is more adventurous and daring then W ever was. Case in point: the diaper pail. 

W had one in his room for three years and NEVER once played with it. Never tried to put anything in it other then diapers. With the latest addition of Baby K to the daytime Parry family, we moved the diaper pail into the hallway. Over the last few days, I've caught E playing with the handle, pulling it up and down. Yesterday, she shoved W's plastic underwear into the pail but I caught her before she pulled the handle. Tonight, as I was getting rid of her diaper I noticed that there was a car already in there. I opened up the pail and inside I found these:    

She's like a squirrel, hiding her nuts in the tree. I had to stick my hand in the pail, more the once, to get them all out. I sighed, shook my head, and cleaned the toys. On a positive note, bleach does not ruin leapfrog fridge magnets. Fast forward to end of bath time. I get the child into her pajamas, comb her hair, and let her roam free while I get her cereal ready. I call her name and get no response. As with most kids, silence with E means trouble. I look down the hallway and where is she? Standing in front of the diaper pail with a car in each hand and three cars already in the pail! So as I'm pulling cars out and saying "no! no! no!" she's giving me a look that says, "but Mom! it's so much fun to shove my brother's cars into the diaper pail so that you have to dig around among the urine-filled diapers to find them!" And I thought raising a girl was going to be easy.