Time for Bed-Bed

Last night, as I was getting The Munchkin ready for bed, she asked if she could have cuddles in our (The Other Half and my) room. She got changed, brushed her teeth and after grabbing her trusted yellow blanket, finding her go-to corner and pressing it up against her nose, she curled up against me and laid her head down on my chest, ear over my heart. It wasn't long before she was fighting a losing battle to stay awake and her eyelids became heavy. 

As I watched her drift off to sleep, I wondered if somehow she remembered the sound of my heart - as she listened to it beating away - from when she was an infant or even before, when I was pregnant with her. I enjoyed a rare, few quiet minutes with her, before giving her a kiss on her nose and telling her it was time for bed-bed. She looked at me through sleepy eyes and offered up her arms to be carried to her crib.

Grieving & Gratitude

Early last week my boss stopped by my desk and asked me if I had a minute and then said we should talk back in our department's area (neither here nor there, my desk is set apart from the rest of the department for reasons that aren't relevant to what I'm about to write - but I will say that I'm better off because I have a window and more workspace). I didn't think much of it because I'm at a point of transition professionally and the details about my new position are evolving so I quickly followed. When he stopped by the office of one of my coworkers, asked if she had a minute and then - when we were inside the walls of our department space - closed the door. I knew something was wrong. 

"I have some really bad news..." he started. 

Our organization is going through a period of transition as well. With the various laws and regulations that seem to be changing from week to week that's just the way it is in my world. My mind started racing and in a nanosecond a bazillion possibilities raced though my head: our department was being let go, maybe he was being let go, maybe he was being tapped to move from the entity to the system, was someone from our c-suite leaving or worse yet, fired? How was I going to tell my husband I was out of a job? It wasn't convenient but I just started a part-time position for giggles with my Trusted Running Store so maybe that could help me fill in the gaps?

We all focused our attention on him, holding our collective breaths waiting for his next words and when he spoke it was far more of a shock than anything I could have imagined. A beloved member of our team had suddenly passed away. Details were sketchy and few. His wife and family - twin girls and an older daughter - were okay and had been out of town.  But that's all we knew. 

Someone began to tear up. Most of us just stared blankly off into space. My heart felt heavy. Words escaped me. My boss, recognizing the blow, said if we were free to leave for the remainder of the day if we wanted or head to the main building where we could find other forms of support and be with our other colleagues. We all sat and talked between ourselves behind a closed door and within the safety of our department walls and then slowly began to try and resume what we were doing as best we could. 

For me, it was only a short time before I decided I needed to leave to be with my family. To see The Other Half, to collect The Oldest off the bus and then gather The Munchkin from Kiddo Care. It was one of those afternoons where all I wanted to do was hug and love on my children because I could. It was one of those days that I was reminded how much can change in the blink of an eye.

I could try to describe the person we lost, but there are no words that could fully tell you what kind of remarkable individual he was. He just had a presence about him - he was one of those people that when you were around him you just knew that he was a good person. And he always had a smile. Always. As I walked into our building yesterday for the first time since his passing I meandered down the hallway that I inevitably would pass him by. Usually I'd be a woman on a mission and lost in thought or staring at one of a million work related email messages that had popped through on my phone and suddenly there he'd be. Walking toward me, leaning over with That Smile and a "Hi Joy!".

I could try to describe the organization that I work for but no words could fully tell you what kind of remarkable organization it is. I'm from a generation that is continually seeking the next great thing so when I'm asked how long I've worked for the organization it's still surreal for me to say that I'll have been with them for NINE YEARS this coming August. I love the place I work for. I love the people I work with. I love that so many people met The Oldest when she was just barely 6 months old and now they're remarking at how much she has grown. I love that I hope, when she graduates high school, some of those same people will be there and I can walk in to their offices and hand them a graduation announcement.

So this loss hurts us a great deal. We're family. And like all family does in times of trouble, we've circled our wagons and are taking care of our own in the ways we are able, but it doesn't make the loss any less raw or fill the void that now exists. 

This morning, as I was grumbling and groaning to myself as I was trying to get my legs to cooperate on the treadmill. That's when the universe spoke to me by way of music. There is a beautiful rendition of Over The Rainbow/Simple Gifts that's done by a group called The Piano Guys and it shuffled its way into my playlist. 

'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be fair,
'Tis a gift to wake and breathe the morning air.
And each day we walk on the path that we choose,
'Tis a gift we pray we never shall lose.

I could no longer grumble and only be grateful for the fact that last night I was able to watch the Bruins win in 2OT, get 4.5 hours of sleep and somehow manage to wake up, stumble into the bathroom and go to the gym. I was so thankful for a husband that could meet me after my shift with my Trusted Running Store with a container of gas to fill up my tank so I could make it home on more than fumes. I reflected on the conversation I had with The Oldest as she rode home with me - watching the way the setting sun reflected the red and blonde highlights in her brown hair and being amazed at the girl she's become. And I thought back to the time I had with The Munchkin as we rocked in the glider in her room - her little finger tapping three times on my nose as she said the words, "I. Love. You." before she curled up in her well loved, yellow blanket and closed her eyes. 

And I cried. Right there in the gym. I cried. I hopped off the treadmill and wiped off my face with the towel and hung my head before looking up to the sky.
 
Tell people how much you care. Tell people how grateful you are for them. Make sure they know what they do well. Say I love you and mean it because you don't know if you'll ever get that change again. Smile. Smile at everyone because you can never know the impact of one, simple smile. Hug your children just because you can and let them eat fruit snacks and drink Sprite for breakfast every once in a while because really, those are the kinds of things that memories are made of and someday they'll look back at and laugh and smile and say, "Remember the time that mom let us have fruit snacks and Sprite for breakfast?"

And when you wake up in the morning feel what's beneath your feet, be amazed at the sunrise and be grateful that you've seen another day. Because it truly is a gift.

I wish for you peace, Jason. I hope somewhere, somehow, you know how very many - how. very. many - lives you have touched and how deeply you are and will be missed. 

Time Transformation

This morning it was just The Oldest and me at home. The Other Half had left to bring The Munchkin down to Kiddo Care about 30 minutes earlier and we were sitting quietly at the table - her eating cheese toast and sipping on orange juice and me crunching away on my cereal drenched in coconut milk. 

The Oldest loves to read. She's got book upon book upon book and is starting to collect a number of digital books on her Nook too. I looked up from my phone where I had been engrossed in the morning news stories on NPR and looked her way.

And there she was. 3 years old, legs just barely dangling over the edge of the chair as she peered into her cereal bowl with a spoon trying to be a Big Girl. I blinked and that little girl was gone. I had to catch my breath and choke back tears. 

The Oldest glanced over at me and looked concerned. "What's wrong, Mommy?" she asked as she put her hand on mine. I scooted over to be closer, wrapped my arms around her and kissed her forehead. 

"Nothing at all, Peanut." I replied. "Just thinking about how much I love you." 

"Okay," she chirped before smiling and going back to her reading.

 

Beneath the Surface

When someone asks me about adoption or what it's been like to have been born in South Korea and adopted at 6 months of age most of the time I'll respond by saying that I feel blessed to have had a biological mother who was willing to relinquish me in the hopes that someone else could provide me with a better life. Of course, having been abandoned in a hospital after birth (that in and of itself is unique because many adoptees from the 1970s and earlier have no formal record of their actual birth date) I don't know how much or little of this is true, but it's what I choose to believe. What I do know is that after visiting South Korea on a "Motherland" tour with Holt International -- the organization I was adopted through -- I have an even greater appreciation for the opportunities I've been afforded because I was placed in the United States. Sometimes a well-meaning person will ask me if I've ever wanted to find my "real parents". My real parents make their home in York, Maine and I'd have no problem finding them if I wanted to -- my biological parents, however, 99.9% of the time I have little to no desire to actively seek out my biological parents.

99.9% of the time. It's the 00.1% that I rarely discuss because it is kept under lock and key buried deep down. It has the potential to open me up to a world full of hurt that emotionally I know I am not in a position to handle at this point in time. In that 0.1% is a longing for some kind of a connection - ANY kind of connection; which explains why, in 2000 when I received the news that Holt Korea was unable to locate my foster mother for me to meet during my time there, I dissolved into a heap on the floor of the kitchen. Nobody enjoys rejection - but an active search for a biological connection has the potential to lead to just that but in a way that is so much more personal and deep than anything I can imagine.

Arrival to JFK and becoming a family.

I wrote that in 2009, just about a year after someone I know  sat down with me and reviewed my adoption records. I was mostly curious because a majority of documents within my record are in Korean. She reviewed each page carefully and then summarized, as best she could, what she was reading. Until she came to one page and she fell silent. She flipped back and forth between that and a couple of others and then, looking me directly in the eyes, she told me she thought there was information about my biological roots through my family tree. I was born in Seoul in a hospital so there is a definite record of the date and time of my birth. This document referenced a location that is entirely different.

I've sat with this information over the last four, almost five, years - not entirely sure what to do with it, if to do anything at all. I once said that it's like a stone that sits just below the surface in a shallow pool of waterl. Sometimes the water is as smooth as glass and remains undisturbed. Other times the wind roughs up the surface so it's hard to see what lies below. I can look at it, can reach my fingers down and touch it and move it around, but where I haven't chosen to pick it up, it's remained there. 

The Other Half and I have talked here and there about my making a trip to Korea. My first, and so far only, visit there was with a group of adoptees and our parents as part of a "Motherland" tour offered by the agency I was adopted through. It was an intense two weeks and I will forever be grateful for the experience, especially the opportunity to visit locations that were significant to me and me alone. But now, with The Oldest having just turned 8 and The Munchkin about to turn 3 I want to know more about the place where I came from. - the food, the people, the culture. 

I've wondered if the person who helped me review my records - and has also been my source of all food things Korean when I've needed ingredients to make one of the few Korean dishes I know how to make - would be willing to make that journey with me. I feel tied to her, I'm sure in part because she's helped me navigate something so intensely personal and private. In my heart I knew the answer to my question, but to be polite I asked. She told me that she was so glad that I did - that she's been wanting to speak with me to say that she would be willing to help me in any way that she could but that she also didn't want to impose and trusted I would ask when I was ready. And so begins a new journey for me. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with the information - mostly I want to learn and to be immersed so I can tell my girls what Korea means to me. I guess if the journey takes me elsewhere with her it will be an added bonus.

So that's what I thought about today as my time on the treadmill added up to a few miles and then later as I made my way into the pool to give my legs a bit of a break and allow myself to be surrounded by the element that always brings me some peace and clarity. I know I don't need to make any decisions today or even tomorrow or next month - building upon what I wrote a few weeks back, maybe this is my true leap of faith.

Newtown

On Monday morning, as I’m sure many parents did, I bundled up The Oldest, gave her an extra long hug, a kiss on the forehead and told her I loved her. I watched as she climbed the steps to the school bus while The Munchkin waved and watched and spoke as only a two year old can about the day she will get to ride the bus. Then, as it pulled away from the curb, I held my breath.

I was tempted to follow the bus to school, something that has never crossed my mind before not even on the first day of kindergarten. I know, however, that as a parent if I am to move beyond the senseless tragedy in Newtown I have to let go. I can love her. I can guide her. I can clean the scrapes on her knees and make sure she eats all of her peas at dinner but at some point I have to send her out into the world – a world that to me is much more uncertain and scary than it was last Friday morning. 

As parents we walk a fine line between protecting and being over protective, between reacting and being over reactive; and struggle knowing that a certain amount of fear is healthy, too much can be crippling. So you take a lot of love, add a couple of shakes of compassion, maybe a few (or maybe many) dashes of concern, a liberal amount of manners, a few heaping scoops of boundaries combined with guidance and  and mix well in the hopes that what you get is a confident, intelligent, self-assured kiddo that makes positive contributions to society. 

The words President Barack Obama spoke to the residents of Newtown at the prayer vigil held on Sunday evening resonated with me:

It comes as a shock at a certain point where you realize no matter how much you love these kids, you can’t do it by yourself, that this job of keeping our children safe and teaching them well is something we can only do together, with the help of friends and neighbors, the help of a community and the help of a nation.

And in that way we come to realize that we bear responsibility for every child, because we’re counting on everybody else to help look after ours, that we’re all parents, that they are all our children.

This is our first task, caring for our children. It’s our first job. If we don’t get that right, we don’t get anything right. That’s how, as a society, we will be judged.

And by that measure, can we truly say, as a nation, that we’re meeting our obligations?

Can we honestly say that we’re doing enough to keep our children, all of them, safe from harm?

Can we claim, as a nation, that we’re all together there, letting them know they are loved and teaching them to love in return?

Can we say that we’re truly doing enough to give all the children of this country the chance they deserve to live out their lives in happiness and with purpose?

I’ve been reflecting on this the last few days, and if we’re honest with ourselves, the answer’s no. We’re not doing enough. And we will have to change.

Like many others, I too had my moments of reflection in the hours and days that followed. Some happened through thoughtful discussion while others were in peaceful solitude and I had arrived at many of the same conclusions on my own before President Obama spoke to Newtown and by extension, the people of the United States. No. We are not meeting our obligations. We are not doing enough to keep them safe from harm. We cannot claim as a nation we are doing enough. And we will have to change. I fear without that change that while I am doing what I can to raise two beautiful girls who will have much to offer the world, that the society I live in - that we live in - is going to fail them. 

Violent crime in any form is terrible, but violent crime involving children is particularly abhorrent and senseless. The fact that what happened in Newtown happened in an elementary school - a place that is sacred and should inherently be considered safe - makes this event even more difficult to comprehend. Say what you will but our children deserve to be able to go to school - to learn, to be nurtured and loved and educated - without having to walk past an armed guard or have a continual police presence. 

Society is failing my girls and failing our children and families in more than one way, and it's time WE THE PEOPLE, our community leaders and our lawmakers engage in discussion as to how we right the wrongs. I don't claim to have the answers but while I believe gun control alone isn't the answer, I also believe that there are steps that can be taken (that have not been) to help reduce risks. I don't know as mental illness should be the lone focal point of these types of incidents but hope that there's discussion about the failures of our communities to help families who need assistance. Perhaps most of all I hope that we honor the children whose lives were cut tragically short by continuing to dialogue about how we can best make sure that these horrific events become a thing of the past.

It's Home

Let me tell you a little bit about New England.

No, it is not a state that you have not heard of.

Yes, it does include Connecticut even though there are areas - like down around New Haven - that many New Englanders consider to be an extension of New York. This is particularly true of baseball and football fans, and occasionally those who follow basketball and hockey.  And no, New York is not a part of New England.

New England isn't just a place to live. It's a way of life. It's a landscape. It's large, diverse cities and small, quaint towns with a white church that sit quietly at the head of a "common". It's where old timers gather on the porch of the country store during the summer or at the local breakfast dive during the winter and over a cup of coffee talk about all the goings on and gossip. People say we talk fast, are always in a hurry, and keep to ourselves - but once we warm to you what you know you have got is genuine and the real deal.

In many ways, a visit to New England is like being able to visit France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Austria all in one day. Accents are different. Cultures are different. It might take you a little while to realize that "Down East" Maine is actually more north.  The people in the city of Burlington located in the Green Mountain State sometimes joke that the great thing about their locations is that it's so close to the rest of Vermont. Lobstahs, as they should appropriately be called, are purple crustaceans and chowdah should never, ever be red. That Manhattan stuff? It's soup.

New Englanders can add the word "wicked" to almost anything. Wicked cool. Wicked awesome. Wicked bad. In some parts of New England they seem to forget what the letter "r" sounds like but in others the letter "r" gets randomly added to words. They understand there's truth to the phrase, "You can't get there from here," and often measure distance not in miles but in the number of hours it takes to get from Point A to Point B. They sometimes experience the season of spring, maybe a few weeks of summer, a beautiful fall, a cold winter and then the season of mud. Driving in the winter is great because snow will fill potholes but sometimes you have to contend with frost heaves. Even then, one of the worst seasons anyone could ever experience is Black Fly.

New Englanders are resourceful and resilient and have been since the early days of our country.Communities banded together then, and they will come together again because inevitably everyone knows someone who knows someone.

I still haven't figured out why I want to tell you about New England. Maybe it's because despite living in the mid-west for the last 10 years New England is still home. But maybe it's because I know a handful of someones directly affected by Newtown. And yes, I may be in the land of soybeans and corn but they are all still close to my heart and my heart aches for "my" New England.

"I don't own my child's body."

A friend on Facebook recently posted a link to a thought provoking CNN article by Katia Hetterer. You can read it here, but the general message the author conveys is that occasionally, her 4 year old daughter goes on a hugging and kissing strike (which happens, as most parents of young children can attest to).

Her parents could get a hug or a kiss, but many people who know her cannot, at least right now. And I won't make her... I will not override my own child's currently strong instincts to back off from touching someone who she chooses not to touch.

 Not friends. Not extended family. Not own family.

How many times have I, as a mother, told The Munchkin to give someone a hug or a kiss? Many. As I read through the piece I reflected back on the many times that when The Munchkin shook her head no, said no and ran in the other direction, or just flat out refused on the spot,  and I said something to her that could have caused her to relent. For a child who has such a strong will (and a strong will she does have) this is one time when she will do as I wish or ask and not what she wants to do.

In short, I began to realize that I need to change my modus operandi. A long time ago I decided I wouldn't allow anyone to guilt The Oldest into feeling like she had to do something or had to go somewhere. She's an old soul and has more empathy in her pinky finger than many adults will be able to muster up over the course of a lifetime and because she's a people pleaser she's easily persuaded, guilted (is that even a word?), or made to feel like she should do something because it will make someone else happy. I never connected that telling her she needs to give someone a kiss or a hug could put her in equally a difficult position.

I work hard to nurture my two girls in the hopes they will become caring, strong willed, independent and intelligent women with both book smarts and people smarts. I want them to be resolute in what they believe and feel as though they can stand up or speak out when they feel they have been wronged. But mostly, I want them to trust their instincts - to believe in that gut feeling, to be able to know that they are doing the right thing without second guessing should they find themselves in a situation that makes them uncomfortable and to do that - it starts with my saying exactly what the author has: I won't make them.

Legacy

Yesterday, a friend that I work with happened to be in our break room at the same time I was heating up my lunch. I've known her for years - and she's known both of my girls, "My Princesses" as she calls them, since they were infants. Earlier this year she was diagnosed with advanced stage breast cancer - through her initial doctor appointments and testing she remained positive and happy, but outwardly she also projected an inner peace that only served to reinforce her grace and dignity. Being in the medical field she knew what lay ahead of her, and she was determined to tackle it head on.  She only returned to work one month ago.

As I sat down and waited for my food to finish in the microwave she took a deep breath and said very casually, "So I don't know if you've heard or not, but I'm going to have to go on at least short term disability but it looks like I may have to go on long term disability as well." I paused for a moment before speaking and automatically assumed that there had been some complication with her breast cancer follow-up that would require her to take some time off. Before I had the opportunity to open my mouth and try to say something that wouldn't seem trite or patronizing I felt like I was being hit by the full force of a right hook to my jaw. "I have liver cancer, Joy, and it's big enough that it's inoperable. My only option would have been for a resection and that's not an option because the cancer has spread too far, or a transplant and I'm not a candidate to be on the transplant list because it's too soon after my breast cancer."

What do you say to that?  I'm sorry? I'm sorry is bullshit and empty. I'm beyond sorry, I'm pissed. I didn't have words. I couldn't find words. There aren't enough words to convey what I was thinking at that exact moment. So instead, I walked over to where she was eating, gave her a hug, and cried. She said, "I have to believe there is a plan in all of this, you know?"

She has an amazing support network that includes family, friends, and coworkers. Her attitude, at least outwardly, is positive and in looking at her I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and amazement at how collected she seemed to be. She's determined, but at the same time, knowing her for as long as I have, there was also a hint of concession in her voice - as if she intuitively knows what her future is going to hold.

So all of this, in combination with the news the other day that a runner - a wife, a mother of three that was newly pregnant - was murdered, has had me thinking about my own mortality more than usual. Thankfully not to the point that my anxiety runs rampant and I find myself spiraling down into a panic that only Xanax can stop - but thinking about nonetheless. As I lay in bed the other morning debating as to whether or not I ran ultimately what got me out of bed was knowing I could postpone my run, but there was nothing to say that with the extra time and thus getting out of the house earlier to head to work that I wouldn't be flattened by a garbage truck. I know there are no guarantees but this kind of news just serves to reinforce that and the need to make sure that I hug my girls a little tighter, I let all who surround me know how very much they are appreciated and loved, and that I live my life so that my memory, my legacy, is how I want others to remember me.

I'll be pissed off at the world for a few days as I process through the news and my anger. Then, as I always have, I will pick myself up - dust myself off - and figure out how to make lemon meringue pie out of a whole crap ton of lemons.

A Mind Full

I've been trying to formulate thoughts into words - and piece those words into coherent sentences. This morning when I stepped through my garage door and into the humid morning air my mind was full of heavy thoughts. Tightening my grip around my pepper spray did nothing to calm the chatter, neither did pressing the start button on my Garmin as I began to run down the street.

Earlier this year a woman was kidnapped and murdered while out for a morning run. Her body was finally found three months later and two individuals have been charged in her death. Because her death came at a time when I was running primarily mid-day or in the afternoons, it shocked me but it didn't cause me to think twice about when I run, how I run, and where I run. Then, last night, a post appeared on Daily Mile - reminding us all, but women in particular, to be safe and prepared. It seems another woman - a wife, and a pregnant mother of three - was murdered while out for a morning run.

I find, as do most people I would hope, violence against women to be heinous. As I was running this morning I kept revisiting that collectively as women, sadly crap like this links us - across borders, across continents, across religion and ethnicity and culture- and it is deplorable to be victimized or terrorized because of our gender.

I do what I can to be smart when I'm running no matter what time of day.

• I always tell someone where I am going, what route I am taking, how long I expect to be out and when I anticipate I will be back. 
• I vary my routes as well make sure that I don't run at the exact same time every day. 
• I have a Road ID that lists my name, important medical information and emergency contacts.
• I've started running with my phone and use an app that emails my husband every 10 minutes with my route and location.
• I use headphones for music but I keep the volume low enough that I can remain observant of my surroundings. 
• I watch shadows, listen for sounds, watch the faces of the people coming toward me - I make eye contact and acknowledge that I see them. I square off my shoulders and run a little more confidently.
• I stay where I know there will be people - or people nearby
• And this morning, I began running with pepper spray.

There's no promise that any of this will protect me - but the way I figure it because of personal history and the fact that I am a mom to two very impressionable little girls I cannot let fear dictate my life. But for a half second this morning, as I lay in bed after my alarm clock went off, I allowed that fear to creep in and I debated putting off my run until this afternoon. And then I got angry that I'd even be questioning whether or not I should run as the sun comes up and I hauled my behind out from beneath the covers.

At 5:30 in the morning, here on the western edge of the eastern time zone, it's starting to get light. Muted lavenders and blues, along with the occasional streak of peach or pink crossed the sky and a few cars drove past me on the main north/south route that I have to cross to get to where I run at this hour. It's less than a half mile from my front door a mega subdivision with paved trails running between and behind rows of houses - but I've never been more aware of my surroundings than I was this morning but I refused to let them rule my run.

I ran 3 miles this morning, each mile was progressively faster with unintended negative splits. I will continue to be smart about my runs and I have no doubts, at least for the near future, that I'll have to fight the insecurities and fears about running on my own - but if I cave, those who continue to commit acts of violence against women will win and that's just not an option.

Marathon Training Starts NOW

Day 1: June 16

My alarm clock went off at 5:30 and my sleepy mind complained that it was too early for a Saturday. Not for a Tuesday or a Thursday when I've been trying to squeeze in early morning, before work miles - but most definitely for a Saturday. I hit snooze, lifted my head ever so slightly to peer out the blinds and thanked the powers that are that at least it was starting to get light.

Today is Day 1 of marathon training. It all starts here. I was hit with a couple of random thoughts as I was making the 15th trip up the stairs to get a random item that I left in the bedroom - the first of which is that I really must do better about laying out gear the night before because it's obvious that while I can get up and get moving, I'm pretty useless at trying to remember everything. I wondered what shoes I should wear and I eventually passed up on the Brooks Pure and settled on my NB 890 v2 Boston Edition (seemed only fitting). I ended up never finding my Body Glide and wondered what a non-runner would think if they overheard me say to another runner: "I got up at 5:30 this morning and I swear I thought I knew where I left my BodyGlide but for the life of me I couldn't find it!" And of course, there was that temporary moment of panic (the first of many, I'm sure) where I wondered what the hell I was thinking when I registered for 26.2.

I did manage to get all of The Munchkin's gear together last night. I have her sippy cup, grapes, cheerios and a bottle of water all ready to go. All that's left for me to do is tip-toe into her room and when she lifts her sleepy noggin ask her if she's ready to run. And run we will.

This is OUR journey to 26.2

Time to get The Munchkin.