the one where I am thankful

I run, train, and race alone. It's not as sad and pathetic as it might sound. I enjoy the time alone, the solitude of logging those miles by myself. I use the time to rock out to my music, pray, and breathe.   

I may not share my miles with others but I certainly love to talk about them. I follow countless runners and runner groups on Facebook and Twitter. I have weekly lunches with a dear friend where we mostly talk about running with a few other topics thrown in. Being able to share your triumphs and difficulties with people who understand is priceless.

For about a year and a half, I have been blessed to be a part of an online group called Friends Who Run. There are eight of us, all girls, all runners. One of us is an accomplished runner, regularly logging high mileage even while pregnant with her second child. Another is a newcomer to our group, having recently discovered the joys of running. Virtually watching her discover who she is as a runner has been so much fun. Reading her posts and comments remind me why I fell in love with running in the first place. Some days, my heart explodes with pride. My best friend, who always claimed she was a only a walker, is now excited about buying running shoes and is already planning her first post-baby 5k.

These women are an endless source of inspiration. Over the past year, one of us has run 850 miles, broke her arm and sprained her ankle and just a few days ago ran a 4:22 marathon. How could I not be inspired by that? When I have doubts, they dispel them. When I have questions, they answer them. Knowing I'm not the only one who decided to skip a morning run and sleep in boosts my self esteem.    

I am thankful for these women. These strong, unflinching, determined women. I am so proud of everything they have accomplished. I look forward to sharing the stories of my miles with them for many years to come.    

the one where I compare myself to my carpet

This past week I've been the VIP at my own personal pity party. Anything and everything I could beat myself up for I have. Including but not limited to: 

Despite training for 2 full marathons and 2 half marathons, I still haven't lost that last ten pounds of baby love.

I have an annoying rash on my chin that the dermatologist has diagnosed as perioral dermatitis. Basically, I have a rash near my mouth. Um, yeah thanks. That's $35 I'll never get back. I could have used WebMD to figure that one out.

Everyone and their mother runs faster then I do.

The fear that I'm a terrible mother that does nothing but snap and scream at her children.

So I did what any self respecting woman with 2 young children does when she's stressed, I cleaned. I didn't just straighten up or do the dishes, I spot cleaned my carpet with my recently acquired Bissell Little Green Clean machine.

As I sprayed, scrubbed, and suctioned every little spot, mark and stain something occurred to me. My spirit, recently, has looked very much like my living room carpet. A few dark spots that are glaringly obvious and ruining the overall look. I need to do something for my attitude akin to busting out my spot cleaner for my carpet.

Otherwise, the words that come out of my mouth, my behavior and the impression I leave with others will look like this... 

end result of my angry spot cleaning carpet session

Dirty, stanky, grimy water. 

I need to let it all go. I need to let go of what type of mother I think I should be, of how fast a runner I should be. I need to let go of my petty jealously and endless need to compare myself to others. 

I need the hugs, kisses, and love from my children to be enough. I need the act of running to be enough. I need to be enough for myself. 

The alternative isn't very pretty.

the one where I taunt my midsection.

Day 1 of 7 minute abs workout was a breeze. 

Day 2 was a tiny bit painful. Seldom used muscles were a little angry with me for trying to whip them back into shape.

Day 3 was agony. Clearly, my midsection is much happier in its current flabby, post 2 babies state and wishes I would leave it alone. 

I'm onto your little game, abdominal muscles, and I'm refusing to participate. You think that if you twinge and ache with the littlest movement, including when I breathe, that I will stop the nightly torture. Well, I will not! I will make you strong again even if I have to pound you into submission to do it.

Oh by the way, no more bread for you either. Cooperate and then we'll talk.

the one where I'm crying just writing this post

Two years ago, it was a Saturday, I was scheduled to get a massage. I had even shaved my legs, and considering I was 8 1/2 months pregnant at that time, that was a pretty big deal. Instead of heading to Athens for my massage, Seth and I drove the 40 minutes to the hospital because my daughter decided she had had enough and wanted out. Nevermind she was about 6 days ahead of her scheduled C-section date or that I was supposed to have my baby shower the next day. Nevermind that my Mom wasn't scheduled to come for a few more days and we had no one to stay with Will. I should have known then that life with E would never be predictable.

My little girl is going to be 2. 2! When did that happen? Where has the time gone? When did she go from being my little strawberry to the wild-haired, funny, independent little spark plug she is now? Sometimes, I catch myself staring at her little hands and feet, willing them to stay that way forever. Every day as she learns something new or does something that makes me laugh, I realize how blessed I am to have this little girl in my life. Blessed and scared all at the same time. Scared that she won't know how intelligent, brave, and beautiful she is. Scared that she will suffer heartbreak and sorrow; wounds and scars that I won't be able to shield her from or heal for her. 

I know I can't and shouldn't protect her from everything; that all I can really do is love her fiercely, pray for her continuously, and guide her as she grows. *sigh* If I'm this emotional about her 2nd birthday, they're going to have to pick me up off the floor for her 16th.

Happy Birthday E bomb. I love you more then I can say. 

   And even though I think that whole rolling your eyes thing is cute now, it won't be in about 10 years, so please stop while you're ahead.

      

reflections

Eleven years ago, I was a junior in college. Six hours away from my family and from the city that I love. There was nothing I could do but sit and watch the horror unfold on the television. Streets I had walked on were covered with debris. Buildings I saw almost every day of my life were suddenly gone. An empty, forlorn spot within the skyline I had grown up adoring.  

It took me months to realize how profoundly I was affected by the attack on my city. It took me years to watch or listen to any footage. I still, to this day, have not been to Ground Zero.

Freedom Tower - July 2012 

On the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I was running 17 miles in preparation for the NYC Marathon. This year, I'm scheduled to run 4 miles. I will spend those 4 miles praying and thinking about the lives that were lost that day. 

I may be 14 hours away and carry a different state's license in my wallet, but I am a New Yorker through and through. Never forget. Never forget.

the one where I get on a soapbox

Begin rant:

I am 31 years old. I have been running for about 8 years. That's 8 years worth of shirts, socks, shorts, and running bras. That's 8 years of figuring out what works for me and what doesn't. Then suddenly, about 2 years ago, everything changed. Bras I've never had a problem with have started eating my flesh. (See below).  

post 15 mile run

 Shorts that I've worn for 4 years have started attacking my skin like it was an evil intruder (I will spare you that photographic evidence). My back looks like a torso from a straight to video horror flick. 

I have tried everything. New bras at all price points. Seamless bras that make grandiose promises of happy, chafe free skin. Bandaids. Bodyglide. Vaseline. Recently, per my Mother's suggestion, I have turned to Dove deodorant. Surprisingly, it works. However, and this is a very big however, it only works where I can reach. Hence, the very nasty, red line in the above picture. Who, at 6am, can coherently and accurately identify all the possible places on one's body where chafing might occur? Apparently, not me. 

I am baffled, that in 2012, not one single active wear company can design a sports bra that does not chafe. We can put a robot on Mars and yet I am running around my little town with chafing scars. I am baffled, completely baffled.      

End rant.

Disclaimer: I know that part of the problem is sweat. I know that I live in a part of the country where it is hot most of the time. I know that when Fall/Winter comes it will get better... let's hope my skin can hold out for that long.

the one where I boast about my husband

This past weekend, my husband did something that four years ago, I never imagined he would do. He got up early and participated in a 10k race. Not only did he post a personal record, but he came in 2nd in his age group and 6th overall. Sometimes, I look at him and wonder who is this person?

May 2008

One day, in 2009, Seth woke up and decided he was tired of being overweight. He wanted to set a healthy example for our son, and, most importantly, wanted to feel good about himself again.  

LBI 2007

So he laced up an old pair of sneakers and ran 3 miles. He did that 4 days a week for the next year. He ate salads for lunch and watched his portion size. As the miles started to pile up, the pounds disappeared. 102 lbs to be exact.

This is what running has done for my husband. It helped him discover the happy, healthy person he was meant to be. It has given him unparalleled self-confidence and the knowledge that no obstacle is too big to conquer.

What can running do for you?

Post LBI 18 miler 2012