A Marathon & A Munchkin

I have lots of excuses: returned to work full time, kiddos are getting older, part-time job, too much laundry, weather is too cold, The Oldest was home from school, The Munchkin was sick, gym was too far.

At the end of the day though, that's all they really were and are. Excuses. There is always time, it's just a matter of priorities. Do I want to sleep another hour or do I want to get up and haul my happy behind to the gym before the sun rises to run nowhere on a treadmill? What do I want. Do I want?

I sit at my desk listening to the 2014 Boston Marathon and once again I'm transported home - to Patriots Day and watching the Battle of Lexington & Concord, to knowing the Red Sox were playing and beautiful spring days that were filled with warmth and sun. But some of the best memories were of watching The Marathon. Seeing the elites cruise on by powered by legs that, as a little girl, seemed to move faster than most cars were able to drive. But what followed was the most special - the sea of bobbing heads as runners continued their journey toward 26.2 and a finish line. The high 5s. The costumes. The smiles.

There was no possible way I could have appreciated what it has to mean to be able to train for a marathon in the hopes that you qualify for another. But years later, after having completed a handful of 13.1s I get it. It's so much more than a race though - it's a journey and I'm not even sure that a finish line is the final destination. 

 So why write now? Why after almost a year? Because I happened to glance down at the screen of my iPod mini and I saw a little girl, probably the same age as The Munchkin, hanging on to one of the fencing units that separates runners and spectators. One of the announcers said, "I have a feeling someday she'll be running this race for herself."  I'm not sure Eleanor is ever going to see me run Boston, but I sure as heck hope that some day I can stand on the other side of that fencing, raise my hand and wave my arm to try and get her attention, and see her smile just as she takes flight on her own Boston journey.

The Munchkin and I have run sporadically over the last few months after taking most of the winter off. I had been having a hard time finding my motivation back and her 4 year old-I'm-going-to-assert-my-free-will self sometimes was less than thrilled about going with me. On Friday I picked her up from daycare and told her we'd go home and before I had a chance to finish my sentence she said, "And are we going to go running?"

So that's what we did. On a beautiful Friday afternoon, we went for a run. Toward the end of the run, as I always do, I let her out of the jogger and off she went. For 1.25 miles. As we were running she turned to me and said, "Mommy, what's the happiest part of running?"

"It's when I'm running with you, Eleanor," I told her. 

She looked at me and smiled. "I love running with you too!" she said and then took off one more time while squealing, "I'M FASTER THAN YOU!"

Game on, baby girl. Game on.

And time to find my way back to that 26.2 by way of motoring along with my Munchkin.

"The Story of My Life"

Over the last month I've sworn up and down that I was going to cancel my Facebook account only to decide that I've got too much invested - too many photographs, too many random status updates, too many this or that - to actually follow through. 

Arrival to the United States in November 1976

Truth be told, there are also too many Korean adoptees. I've been a part of a group of Korean American Adoptees for some time but hadn't really become more participatory until the last couple of months. Why? I don't know. Just is what it is. But what I've found in that forum is a collective group of individuals that understand my struggles and in turn many times my darkest fears and deepest dreams. Despite the fact that we are spread across the globe - some younger, some older - we all share a common thread that binds us together.

I have only just recently started to understand the shapes and forms my identity problems have taken. To most who do not know me I present as a confident, self-assured, intelligent and outgoing individual. Outwardly I am able to say that am good at what I do professionally - the work that I've done has contributed to three years of national awards and I have worked hard to earn the respect and confidence of the leaders who depend on me and my skill set. 

Those who are closest to me however know that I battle low self-esteem.  I overachieve so I do not disappoint. I very carefully calculate my risk so as to not fail. I have difficulty feeling worthy or deserving. There is rarely a week that I am not fearful of losing my job. I am terrified of being left alone, especially in a large crowd where I do not know anyone. For the longest time I viewed my eyes - their unique almond shape and dark brown, almost black color - and my ethnicity as a liability. 

This became especially true in junior high school as friends began experimenting with makeup. The teen magazines don't tell you what to do if you do not have an epicanthal fold and trying to figure it out on my own meant that more times than not I looked like the Bride of Frankenstein rather than the fashionable teen pop star. Of course I was also lacking the blonde hair and blue eyes that society told me was what beauty looked like.


I have done my best to keep my insecurities in check around my daughters, especially The Oldest as she has grown from a toddler to a child who is blossoming into a girl. The last thing I want for them is to project my insecurities into the universe where they can be at best perceived by them, and at worst become a part of who they are. I never want them to look in the mirror and doubt who they are.

I still haven't figured it all out - but with the help of an excellent therapist and some good medication I'm starting to understand how, at the very least, the pieces of the puzzle might fit together. Small dashes of confidence are starting to add up and with that my view of the world has become a little more cheery and bright. As a very wise person once said to me, "It's amazing what happens once you start to like yourself."

Despite the fact that everyone - at least right now - in the Korean American Adoptee group are largely unknown to me personally, I take comfort in knowing that they exist in the vast expanse of cyberspace. In the absence of a biological connection to the place of my birth, aside from The Oldest and The Munchkin they are the closest thing to blood relation that I might ever have. I'm learning more about the food, the culture, the customs and yes - even about how to properly put on eye make up. And I relate to - no, I feel their hurt and their sadness because it has been mine as well.

My file photo, sent to my parents.

I was at the gym tonight putting in some dreaded 'mill miles because it was far too raw and cold outside to go for a run with The Munchkin (despite her asking if we could from the moment I picked her up from daycare). 3 miles done, I slowed my pace to a walk to allow my legs and muscles to cool down and as I did I was scrolling through my email messages and then Facebook on my phone. As I checked out the Korean American Adoptee page I was greeted by a collage, compiled of photos of us (well, not me because I missed this one). There are photos of arrival to the United States, as infants, or the first images sent from orphanages and adoption agencies to waiting families. I always smile when when I see the collage because it makes me feel less alone seeing so many pairs of eyes that are like mine, cheeks and cheekbones like mine, shiny black bowl-cut hair that frames a round face like mine staring back at me. So it seemed fitting that as I was looking at all the adoptees in the photo, Bon Jovi's "Story of My Life" came on to my iPod. 

I used to have that song on my run playlist when I was battling demons that were waging war inside my head. I sometimes would listen to it over and over again to remind myself that I could make it through 24 hours and at midnight I could say I had survived yet another day. Lately, it's been a reminder of where I've been and where I am now. But this afternoon as I listened to the lyrics it took on a new meaning. 

I know it isn't black and white
And it's anything but grey
I know that no I'm not alright, but I feel ok cos
Anything can, everything can happen
That's the story of my life

Many of those photos may look black and white or gray but if you look closer, they're hardly that. They are rich hues of the threads that make up the tapestry of our individual stories. They're the stories of our lives.

 

Officially Unofficial

I have officially, unofficially completed half-marathon #7 - The 3rd Annual Carmel Half Marathon as part of the Carmel Marathon Weekend. This makes me a "Certified Streaker" because I've completed this event, starting in 2011 with the  8k and then 2012 with the half, the last 3 years. Knowing that my hope is someday to publish all of these blog entries into a published journal for The Kiddos I will only state that prior to this the closest I ever came to streaking was on a summer night on the shores of Lake Champlain in Vermont and that wasn't nearly as physically demanding as covering a distance of 13.1 miles purely under my own power. This, however, has been infinitely more rewarding. 

So why officially unofficial? Because after I entered the starting corral, and only a few minutes before the start of the race, I had an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I realized that I had forgotten to attach my timing chip to my sneaks and knew exactly where it was resting on the kitchen table at home. In all honesty, I'm the kind of person who can put my phone and keys down when I walk in the door and 5 minutes later not be able to find them so the fact that I haven't done this sooner is kind of remarkable to me. 

This race was never about time - it was about participating in an event that I love with members of my running family and pounding out frustration and heartache in the ground - so the fact that I don't have an official race time doesn't phase me in the least. I am worried that not having an official finish will negate any further streaking I might be a part of - I've been really proud to have participated in the inaugural event in 2011 and hope that in 10 years no matter where I may be that I'll be here for this event. So I'm hoping that the race organizers will be able to accept photos from The Other Half, Garmin and/or Runmeter data, and if needed a friend that can attest to the fact that I passed her going in the opposite direction (the course loops back on itself) and somehow make a note in their records that I did indeed run. It was what it was, though, and knowing there was nothing I could do but try and contact the race organizers after I stood at the start and said a few silent prayers, took comfort in the red and white "B" adorning a hat that I've had for more than 10 years and waited.

It was cold this morning and after being teased with temperatures that felt like late spring, walking out into 32 degrees was a bit of a rude shock. Temperatures, by the way, which were colder than the Monumental Half Marathon I ran the first weekend in November last year. Adding to the chill was a stiff breeze. No, wind is probably more accurate. If the wind was to your back it wasn't much of a problem but as soon as you turned into it or if you were in the shade it felt like it cut to the bone. Despite this it was a beautiful morning to run. As the start was signaled and we made our way up hill to the start line (yes, you read that correctly - you run uphill to the start) the sun was cresting over the trees and the sky was illuminated a rich hue of gold. I pressed play on my shuffle, let my Garmin add to the chorus of GPS beeps and chirps, and began my journey toward the finish. 

I updated my playlist last night. As I ran I wanted to remember Boston and all of the HAPPY memories I have. As much as The Boston Marathon is included in those, the best ones have been at Fenway Park - home to the Boston Red Sox. Most people, Red Sox fan or not, are now familiar with Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" (which is sung in the middle of the 8th inning) but there's also "Tessie" by The Dropkick Murphy's and "Dirty Water" by The Standells. It seemed only fitting, despite the fact that I've got my own feelings (barf) about the song, "Sweet Caroline" was up first. 

"Where it began, I can't begin to knowin..." is how the song starts out. I reflected back to the first time I had seen the Boston Marathon and then, fast forwarding, to the first time I really felt like I had become a true runner and not just a wanna-be-imposter. 

"And when I hurt, hurtin' runs off my shoulders. How can I hurt when I'm with you?" My legs started to protest as they warmed up andI ran through my usual internal monologue of cuss-words and f-bombs as they did but the hurt in my heart was greater. I thought how fitting it was that those words came at a time I wanted to release my hurt and leave it behind. 

I cycled through those three songs, with "Your Going Down" from Sick Puppies added in for good measure and as I settled into a comfortable pace my heart started to feel at ease and I was able to remember why it is I so very much love to run. I missed The Munchkin but there were points in time, when the sun was shining directly behind me, I was fortunate enough to run with my shadow again. She led the way reminding me to dig down when my legs started to fatigue and gave me a pep-talk when cold chilled my fingers numb. Along the route people who recognized the "B" on my hat would say, "Way to go, Boston!" or "You're almost there, Boston! Keep it up!" THAT, warmed my heart and made me smile. The miles passed by one after another - some more more challenging than others - but all remarkable and a testament to the collective determination and strength of those of us who run or walk. 

As I crested the hill to the final yards toward the finish, with perfect timing "Dirty Water" began to play. 

I'm gonna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I'm gonna tell you a big bad story, baby
Aww, it's all about my town

Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the river Charles 
That's where you'll find me

Well I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston, you're my home.

The Other Half was at the finish to greet me - I saw him taking photos and tried to smile (but I think I look pretty geeky). I crossed the finish, collected my finishers medal and then my Streaker medal (bling x 2?!?! BONUS!!!) and then made my way through the chute. Here's to Certified Streaking, my 7th Officially Unofficial half marathon, uniting with the running community, and honoring - in my own way - the city that I love. Oh, Boston... You're MY home.

Love That Dirty Water

In the state of Massachusetts and Maine, the 3rd Monday of every April is a holiday. Patriots Day. It commemorates the Battles of Lexington and Concord and the first shots of the Revolutionary War that started the colonies on their path to freedom.  As President Obama so appropriately said, Patriots Day is “...a day that celebrates the free and fiercely independent spirit that this great American city of Boston has reflected from the earliest days of our nation.”

I spent half my school years growing up outside of Boston in a suburb called Reading. Our street dead-ended at a place where, if you climbed through the brush you'd come to a fence on a rocky ledge that overlooked Route 128 and it wasn't unusual to hear the roar of jets flying overhead as they made their way to and from Logan International. In the spring there were trips into the city to spend time at Boston Common and ride the Swan Boats (especially on Mother's Day). The summer brought games at the famous Fenway Park where the wooden slat grandstand seats from yesteryear are so small that even a normal person living in 2013 feels like they're going to eat their kneecaps and in the fall you could find me sitting, legs dangling over the side of a bridge with my dad as we ate Legal Seafood chowdah while we watched the crew teams competing in the Head of the Charles glide beneath us (or occasionally hit a bridge abutment). Winter would bring trips to the Science Museum where we'd watch in fascination as the worlds largest air-insulated Van de Graaff generator created an awesome indoor lightning storm or visits to the aquarium where everyone knew how to walk like a penguin thanks to the Boston Aquarium commercials. 

But Patriots Day - Patriots Day was a day all on its own and for many of us who grew up in Massachusetts it holds very special memories. 

There were journeys to Lexington to see the reenactment of the Battle of Lexington where, at 5am on a cool April morning, when dew and a spotty fog covered the grass our history and our present collided - spring jackets, sneakers and cameras beside tri-corner hats, petticoats and muskets. A rider on horseback appeared, words exchanged and the sleepy green awakened with Minutemen coming out of the tavern and houses surrounding the green and "arriving" from nearby areas. All were prepared to fight the British - the Red Coats or "lobsterbacks". The reenactment itself takes only moments and is done before it ever really feels like it gets started but it's a unique piece of history - history that lives on every year on Patriots Day.

There's a Sox game - a rare early week, midday game that one year could be filled with sunshine and game goers wearing shorts and t-shirts and the next people dressed in their winter's finest parkas, hats and gloves trying to keep the chill away by holding a steaming cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee or eating a Fenway Frank that I think Steven King once said look like its been cooked in water that came right out of the Charles River.

And then... Then there's The Marathon. 

Just as I'll never forget my first Sox game or the first time I saw the reenactment of the Battle of Lexington, I'll also never forget the first time I saw the Boston Marathon. It was a beautiful April day - the kind that makes you forget that just a few weeks before you were wearing snow boots and drinking hot chocolate. It was just my dad and me and a few thousand of our closest friends as we found a place to stand along the route just before the course takes a turn and the runners head for Heartbreak Hill. We waited for what seemed like an eternity. Just as I started to get bored we could hear the siren blips and blurps of a police motorcycle drawing closer and before long it and a strange looking truck carrying a television camera passed us with the elites cruising not too far behind. I remember my dad leaning down and asking me if I could believe that a human being could run that fast. I couldn't then and I still can't now. They made it look so easy, so effortless and so graceful.

What I remember most about that day though is how a slow trickle of runners continuing on their 26.2 mile journey became a steady stream and then came in wave upon wave upon wave. Heads bobbing, hooting and hollering, smiling, laughing - some dressed up in costume, others in their running best - while those of us on the sides cheered. I was lucky enough to get a high five or two and be a part of one of the state's proudest and finest days. 

So the fact that someone has taken a day - a day that for me and many others like me is associated with so many happy memories and turned it, at least for now, into a day of unfathomable tragedy and sadness is beyond my comprehension. My heart aches for Boston. I feel sick to my stomach for so many reasons - only one of which is the fact that this was a violent, senseless act - yet I am also grateful that those that I knew who were in the area are safe and accounted for.

It's only been within the last few years that I developed a love for running. I tried, unsuccessfully in high school to be a 100m high hurdler and loathed running anything that had the world "mile" in it. I would joke that the only time I would run was if chased and even then it had better be downhill with a stiff tailwind. It at first seemed impossible and I was limited to running short intervals of 15 to 20 seconds with double the amount of walking to recover but with time and persistence I started putting enough distance together to cover a 5k and eventually a half marathon. Somewhere along the way running became less of  a struggle and more of an escape, especially when it included time with The Munchkin. As I grew and developed into a runner I began to have a new appreciation for what it must mean to actually qualify for and RUN the Boston Marathon and with that came the dream of actually running it myself. I know what it's like as a spectator - I grew up loving The Marathon because of it. I want to know what it's like to be on the other side. 

Which is why what happened on Patriots Day - April 15, 2013 - is all the more difficult for me to understand. For the love of "my" city but also for the running community because - whether we know each other or not - we're all one big family. We share a common thread of knowing that no matter how long we've been gone or need to be away, the road or the trail will be waiting for us. We've shared our triumphs and our successes. Like your oldest, most trusted friend it listens to our sorrows and sadness - allowing our tears to fall and our screams to be heard. Because running is unlike anything else - for most of us we've experienced a time when even the shortest of distances has required pure grit and determination to propel our bodies along using only the strength of our legs and the will of our mind - I feel like there's an unspoken understanding. We all chafe. We all do nasty things to our toenails and talk about poop and trots and snot in such candid ways most non-runners think we're crazy. And maybe we are because who, after all, would want to push their bodies to the point of physical exhaustion or rise before dawn because it's better to get the long run done on an 80 degree summer morning than when it hits 90 in the middle of the day. 

Though the title of this Blog is 3M: Motherhood, Munchkin and a Marathon I had put my marathon plans on hold. After injuring my leg the way I did last fall I rethought my plan and had decided to focus on running the half-marathon distance (still no small feat) and on trying to become a half-iron distance triathlete. Yesterday changed that. I don't know when, but I WILL run the Marathon distance and some day I WILL run Boston. Because as the song goes... I love that dirty water... Boston, you're my home. 

Dear Munchkin

Dear Munchkin -

 You weren't so sure you wanted to run this morning. When I started to get you dressed you flopped backward onto the floor and started flailing your legs around making it all but next to impossible for me to get your jeans on. Not that I could blame you as the sky was (and still is as I write this) a cloudy gray and when the wind would gust I could hear it whipping by the screen in your window. Eventually, with the promise of fruit snacks you kept your legs still long enough for me to get you dressed and as I tied your shoes you smiled at me and said, "We run?"

Yes, Munchkin, we ran. You are too little to understand right now, but hopefully someday you will have an appreciation for just how much we have. Since the summer of 2011 we have logged more than 400 miles together and I'm certain that by the time the end of this summer we will have surpassed 500. Over the last couple of years my running has changed. YOU have changed.

Your dad will someday tell you that I hadn't been across the finish line of an 8k more than 10 minutes when I asked him what had happened to the jogging stroller that he had bought me when your older sister was born. He smiled at me, laughed, gave me a look of resignation and told me after he saw a guy pushing a jogging stroller cross the finish line he knew that it wasn't a matter of if I'd ask about the jogger, but when. We got home that afternoon, fished it out from where it had been sitting in the garage for more than 4 year and dusted it off. Your old ride was okay but it pulled hard to one side and made running more of a challenge than it should be. Despite this, we started logging regular miles and before long we were lucky enough to upgrade to the wheels you have now. 

Our miles that summer were sometimes a bit of a challenge. You always enjoyed the first few miles and they would pass with giggles and laughter. Sometimes you'd become quiet and listen to the birds or babble to yourself but no matter what the distance, about halfway through our run you'd start to scream. It would be so loud that I used to joke with others in the training program if they needed to find me to just listen for you. I'd do my best to get you settled down but most of the time I just had to hope that you'd eventually fall asleep. Thankfully, fall asleep you usually did. As you've gotten older there have been times when if it weren't for your asking me if we could run, I never would have gotten myself out the door. And the expression on your face when I pick you up from daycare after a long day at work and you see me and say, "I run?" makes me smile every time.

I have spent some of my best moments with you when we've been running. We've talked about trees and birds. You've waved to dogs and people or pointed out bunnies and squirrels as they scurry across the trail. On long runs your small hand will often reach up through the jogger canopy to hand me a grape or a cracker or the occasional empty fruit snack package that you no longer want to hold. We've laughed and sang and otherwise just been silly - and when you've slept I've glanced down at you and wondered how in the world I will ever be able to tell you how much our runs mean to me. 

This year you've started running with me. I usually stop about a half mile away from where we started, you hop out of the jogger and will start trucking up the trail under the power of your own two feet. Last Sunday, as you began running you turned around, smiled at me and squealed, "You can't catch me!!!" For now, I'm grateful that I can but I'm fairly certain that my days of being faster than you are numbered. As I watch you there are times that I start to wonder if maybe you will become a runner on your own. But until then I'm happy to take your hand when you reach for mine and run with you.

I love you, Munchkin. Thanks for being MY running buddy. Thanks for being my inspiration.

Finding Faith

Saturday morning's long run of a supposed 70 minutes did not happen when my dinner out with The Other Half on Friday night ended in a double case of food poisoning. I probably would have felt a lot better if my stomach would have just let go of whatever was making it churn but seeing as I can count the number of times I've been pukey sick on one hand I would have had better luck hitting the Powerball than paying homage to the Porcelain Gods. So when Saturday morning rolled around and my alarm clock went off signaling that it was time to hit the trail, I decided to allow my head to hit the pillow again instead.

I was feeling guilty though. I thankfully got a workout in early Thursday morning but Friday it was the furthest thing from my mind as I continued to work through what was easily the second most difficult situation of my professional life. Thankfully it has nothing to do with me personally - not my performance or my abilities and if anything I remain grateful that I am the one who is, at least for the immediate future, the point person as we go about the difficult task of collecting information and examining our processes in the hopes that we can improve. There are times when I know a workout will make me feel better and allow me to leave some of the stress and tension of the day behind me but Thursday, after an almost 14 hour day all I wanted to do was get home, hug my girls and crawl into bed. Friday wasn't much different - my brain was on overload and had long passed the point of critical mass. I desperately wished that I was in a place - both physically and emotionally - to go to the gym but even the thought of swimming was too overwhelming. So as I left work Friday afternoon I promised myself that I'd go on Saturday. That was obviously before my introduction to Food Poisoning 101.

Overcast skies appeared to threaten rain, but with a temperature of 66 degrees there was no way to pass up the opportunity to run miles with The Munchkin. I had some motivational help in the way of the sweet potato fries I had on Friday night and then a beer and a mini peanut butter cup (chocolate shell, peanut butter mousse and whipped cream) this afternoon. I'm good at jokingly justifying almost anything I eat (beer and peanut butter are carbs and protein - and chocolate is just good for the soul overall) but truth be told I know that I like food far too much to NOT exercise. So late this afternoon, with beef stew in the crock-pot all ready to go for dinner, I buzzed home to change in to my running gear, get running shoes on The Munchkin and headed to the trail in the hopes that we could come close to the 70 minute run that was aborted on Saturday.

I made the decision before we left to not bring my iPod with me. I know that The Munchkin has been affected by my returning to work full time (when Friday rolls around she starts saying that she doesn't want to go to daycare and she's said more than once, "I miss you...") so I figured that it'd be good for me to give her uninterrupted, undivided attention. We talked for a little while but it wasn't long before I realized I was doing all the talking and there were no answers coming from the jogger seat below me. I peered through the opening between the canopy and the seat back and could see her, head resting to the side, fast asleep. All of the above was a long way of my getting to this:

Finding my faith. 

I'm at a point in my life where I'm ready to reconnect with my religion and, more directly, my spiritual roots. I believe in a Power greater than me - whether or not that is a power, singular - or powers, plural - is something I have yet to work out. Anyone who is familiar with my story, however, will know that it's important and time for me to make peace with my faith. Over the last two years I've come to realize that it truly is a gift there are only 24 hours in a day and at the end of each, when the clock strikes midnight, a new day begins. I prayed more than I've ever prayed before - sometimes for sanity, sometimes for wisdom, sometimes for strength - but always for the courage to do what was right at that moment in time.

Over the years I've struggled with what "God" means to me and, for a number of deeply personal reasons, on a deeper level what it means to believe and have faith. I've listened to people talk about finding God, finding their religion or being born again and at the heart of my disdain for overly organized religion is also a deep envy at the unwavering faith that so many of them project. I've tried to remain open to hearing their words and messages though, and it's because of this I was able to hear someone share something that I thought a lot about on my run this afternoon while The Munchkin snoozed. They said, "If everyone had a perfect life, nobody would ever have to have faith. We have to be challenged in order to believe in something greater than ourselves." THIS has resonated with me.

I know I didn't find all the answers in my run this afternoon, but I thought a lot about where I've been and where I am and where I'm going. And through it all, I'm pretty sure I've started to make peace with what it means to have faith.

Oh, and The Munchkin? She woke up about a mile short of where we usually stop so she can get out of the jogger and run. She made it almost a full half mile this afternoon - laughing and giggling the entire way. I took a video of her with my phone and couldn't help but wonder if maybe some day some station will show it before she makes her run for the gold in the Olympics. We made it back to the car and no sooner had I gotten her buckled into her car seat than I felt the first splashes of raindrops on my bare shoulders. How about that for timing? Or maybe it was a little bit of faith :)

It's Sunday evening and for the moment, all is right in my world.

Reflections & A Resolution

It's been about two months since I've done any sort of regular physical activity and more than 3 since I've been able to log consistent miles running. While my clothes are starting to feel a bit snug from the handful of pounds that I've added, I'm the first to admit that I needed the break because staying in shape is not only demanding physically - but it takes planning and scheduling and sticking to a routine. And quite honestly there have been plenty of times that I've wanted to say screw it. I like sitting on my ass and eating cookies and enjoying french fries and taking a nap in the afternoon when everyone else is napping instead of heading out the door to squeeze in some miles.

Christmas Goodies

Thankfully, my body has reached a point of revolt and revolution and I find myself craving salads, pears, and carrot sticks more than I do brownies and ice cream. Getting back into the swing of things - swimming and running and yes, spinning - is going to take some doing but I know once I do it will again become habit and I will be well on my way to logging miles and swimming meters and happily riding a spin bike going nowhere fast. I'm grateful that the Sports Santa was generous and brought me a nice collection of new swim gear that included a gear bag, paddles, a pull buoy and a waterproof iPod. Yes, you did read that correctly, the iPod itself is waterproofed)

I surprised myself in 2012 by completing 4 half marathons, one 4 miler, a handful of 5ks and a couple of 1 mile runs for fun (okay, maybe it was running for beer but still). Somewhere along the way I actually began to enjoy running but even better was the fact that The Munchkin began to enjoy running with me. We've logged a couple hundred miles this year, she and I.  I have my moments when I enjoy the peace and solitude when I'm alone with the pavement under my feet and the thoughts in my head - running isn't the same without her anymore. We talk. We sing. She yells at me to run faster or pushes me to keep running when I think that I need to walk. She's only two, soon to be three - but in that tiny body of hers is an intense motivation to keep moving if nothing else so I can spend as much time with her as I can because I know these moments (ones like when she looks at me and says, "I yur runnin' buddy")  will slip by far too fast. 

2012 also caused me to look at my training - how I train and what I train for - and re-prioritize what I want to get out of my running. I used to be driven by a need and a desire to beat a personal best. I thought 2012 was going to be the year I pushed myself closer to a sub 2 hour half marathon and then the injuries started to add up. They weren't always mine - but having friends being put out of commission for months at a time to let an injury heal made me appreciate what it meant to run with the goal of running happy and injury free. Ultimately I've started to accept that what's best for me isn't to push for time - it's to concentrate on finishing but having fun in the process because life is, after all, a journey and not a destination. 

I've registered for my first half marathon of 2013 and on New Year's Day will register for my second and possibly my third. Sometime before the end of February I plan on registering for what I hope will be my first marathon. If there's one thing I want in 2013 it's to train for a marathon with The Munchkin - it's a journey I started with her in 2012 and it won't seem right if I don't complete it without her. I'd like to try trail running - but I'd also like to knock off a sprint tri if I can somehow scrounge enough together for a relatively inexpensive road bike.

Oh, and my resolution?

It's not to lose weight or to get in shape or to run a sub 2 hour half marathon. All I want to do is conquer and master the making of a perfect lemon meringue pie. I'll keep you posted as to my progress :) 


 

Salt Lick

Yuppers. This is about how I felt after my run this afternoon. Temps at run time? In the low 90s. Humidity? High. Me? Sweating like a mofo.

Ask most people who know me and I'm blessed to be the kind of person who sweats, but doesn't smell. I've been out for 2+ hour runs to return home, clothes soaking wet but no stink on me at all. Hooray for small miracles, right?

I do, however, seem to become quite the human salt flat once said sweat evaporates. Last summer I'd get the fine, telltale, white squiggly outlines on my skin that indicated salt crystals. I think the only thing worse was realizing my then 13 month old Munchkin would actually lick my shoulder after a run because of it.

I ran with a friend, Kara, today. I used to be a pretty solitary runner, but after running two half marathons with friends, and then a one mile "fun run" with Kara I've come to find I really enjoy having the company, conversation and companionship. Admittedly, when I pulled into the parking lot I couldn't help but wonder to myself whose brilliant idea it was to run 4 miles in this kind of heat (read: mine) and what the heck I was thinking. It's days like these that send me back to my initial months of running when my inner monologues were robust and I often wondered what possessed me to think I could ever become a runner. But then something happened. I actually began to enjoy running. I looked forward to it. I would run because I wanted to, not because I had to (which is another story for another time). And as much as I may have whined and complained a little throughout the four miles - I really did enjoy this workout.

Our miles were slow. 4 miles in 41:55 for an overall pace of 10:28/mi, that's about what I had been running in the spring on my long training runs pushing The Munchkin, but they were solid. I felt somewhat wimpy when I ended up downing the two bottles of water on my hydration belt but in these types of conditions is much better to be smart than to be stubborn.

I have speedwork on the schedule for tomorrow and I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to take it outside early in the morning, or if I'm going to go indoors in the afternoon and then get in a quick swim for active recovery. Week 1 of Marathon Training is almost over... already looking forward to Week 2.

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.