boxes

I love packing.

One of my favorite George Carlin routines is about our stuff. Our addiction to and accumulation of stuff. And that's the truth, if I didn't have so much ***damn stuff, I wouldn't need a house.

But we don't have a whole lot of stuff; we have more than a little but far less than most families I know. As Carlin points out, people move to have more room for more stuff. That's not us.

I've always been pretty anal about not letting our possessions get out of hand. The home I grew up in was always outrageous when it came to that. Everything we wanted to keep, things we thought we might need to keep, and everything else we were too lazy to actually sort through just sat in piles all throughout the house. These piles grew and grew and got shoved into corners, against walls, and forgotten on staircases. Watch an episode of "Hoarders." We weren't that far off from needing an intervention, ourselves.

I moved out of my house for the third the last time when I was 22 and I made a vow to myself to never, EVER, get buried in crap again.

Still, here I am with my life, my stuff, in boxes, and I know this moving process would be a whole lot easier if there weren't so many to fill. I just get endlessly annoyed at the decision-making that goes into sorting, packing, and moving. What's this? When was the last time I used/wore it? Is it my husband's? One of his exes? What the fuck is he doing still holding on to an old book of hers, anyway? And a how-to book about love?! Ha!! Obviously that wasn't of any help!

Wait, what were we talking about?

For the most part, I'm actually a thrower-away-er, sometimes to a fault. As per the nature of this blog, allow me to make another comparison between running and my life. Running: Moving quickly in one direction, not looking back (Except maybe on an out-and-back route, which I usually hate. I much prefer a loop.). You can't hold onto shit during a run. Hot spots? You can take off your sneakers and rub your feet or you can keep running. Sore legs? You can go home and pop a couple Advil or you can keep running. Hitting a wall? You can sit down and give up or keep running. Just not feeling it today? You can wallow in the reasons why or you can keep fucking running.

So when it comes to my life, I try not to hold on or hold back. Anything that conjures up sentiments I wish to retire, I throw away. Things that bear no relevance to my current situation, I toss. If it brings me back to a place I don't want to be anymore, it goes buh-bye. Whether it's two-week-old cheese that might still be OK or fifteen-year-old wrinkled and humidity-stained notebooks with song lyrics scrawled on the covers and "poetry" (read: Pre-teen Angst-ridden Lamentations) squeezed in between pages of biology notes.

Each mile is not the same as the one before it, and can not be run if you do not allow yourself to pass from one mile to the next. So go the pages of life.

a little bit about what I do... or, what I did

My last day at the restaurant was Saturday and I am proud to say I have survived being a server. Rather, the restaurant survived me. Too many dishes and pieces of glassware did not. You're welcome, Mikasa.

I was never married to being a server. Most nights, the latest I stay up is because of work, otherwise I'm in bed after the eleven-o-clock news. I suck at building a rapport because I don't remember names or faces very well. Serving has infiltrated my dreams on more than one occasion (my personal favorite: the Perpetually In the Weeds scenario, where I'm sat table after table after table and everyone is giving me their order and each time I try to go ring it in another table is sat and is whistling me over until everyone in the entire dining room is glaring at me because they have no food, no water, and no sweet tea), but for the most part, I don't carry my job around with me. Really.

But it's been one of the best jobs I've ever had. I love my coworkers, our Chef, Sous Chef, and the rest of the kitchen crew. I really like my boss, despite being certain that she had it in for me on more than one occasion (coming from the Olive Garden didn't help). The job has certainly had its ups and downs; too often would I leave hating myself because no matter what I did, I couldn't seem to make anyone happy. But just as often I'd leave with a sense of accomplishment. The best days were the ones when little old ladies would all but pinch my cheeks and tell me how fabulous everything was (even if they still think it's 1957 and tip me in change), or a little kid smiles up at me and says, "You're the BEST waitress EVER!"

When I was pregnant I pretty much rocked it, tip-wise. Except I didn't show through my work shirt until I was like 7 1/2 months. One time, I was describing some dishes to a table where a woman very engrossed in our menu when she looked up, startled, and said, "Oh my god you're pregnant!" The thing I got all the time is that not one part of me looked the least bit pregnant, except for the basketball sticking out from under my shirt. On my last day before my maternity leave, a customer asked the usual "how much longer do you have?" "Uh... like, 3 weeks and 1 day..." and she goes "WHAT are you still doing HERE? Go sit down!"

And the bad days, well, I can laugh at them all now.

Like the time I made a 6% tip for no apparent reason (3 days ago, actually). The couple was all nice and smiley whenever I was at the table, but in an intense argument when I wasn't, according to my manager.

Or the couple that our manager had to kindly ask to leave because their argument was far less discreet. There was yelling. And cursing. Very loud. On Valentine's Day. Ah... romance.

And the time I got yelled at and had a check presenter practically thrown back at me by a man who was very upset that someone else at the table had arranged payment with me before the end of the meal, because he had to pay and there would be no exception.

The numerous occasions that I had to tactfully explain (without sounding condescending) that "bruschetta" means "bread", and does not automatically signify a dish made with tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil, to a person who was already very pissed off that we didn't have "normal" bruschetta.

The people who ask to sit outside at night, only to get upset at the lack of lighting and the size font on our menus.

And my personal favorite: Waiting on a table of 20-something 20-somethings, all Latin American (before you call me a racist, my coworker Jose, who's sister had been promoted and was the reason they were all out to eat, came up to me beforehand and said, "You're waiting on them? I'm going to tell you now: I'm sorry.") Remember that serving nightmare I described. That was this table. I couldn't make it around the table to get everyone's order without the person I started with pointing at his empty beer bottle, pointing at his watch, and then throwing his hands up in a "what the fuck?" kind of gesture. Yup.

I doubt I'll be returning to serving anytime soon, except for when I come back to Greenville so the baby's grandparents can see her and I can pick up a shift to make up for the drive. Unless Kevin Gillespie's restaurant is hiring. That might be worth the commute from Newnan to Atlanta.

life is perfect, never better, distance making the heart grow fond

Immediately after completing the half marathon last month my thoughts turned to planning the next race. I looked up the national schedule for all major half and full marathon races and was disheartened to see there wouldn't be any in the southeast until fall, except for the "Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon" somewhere in Georgia in June. Me + ankles + trails has always added up to unpleasant results in the past so I don't think I'll be signing up for that one.

There's a very German-themed race one town over from where my grandmother lives in Pennsylvania (lederhosen are optional) that I thought I could try, but that too, is out of the question because of timing. The hubby and I are finally honestly for real moving to Georgia next month, about a week before this race would be taking place. So without a definite race in my near future, my running is back in "maintenance mode," if that.

I say "if that" because running doesn't really happen when it's 95, muggy, and the baby is way off her routine because of driving, weddings, and having to share a seedy hotel room with Mommy and Daddy. We logged a sweaty 3 miles today when the sun was close to setting, but that's all I've done running-wise this weekend. I have a potential date with a treadmill tomorrow though, so hopefully these legs won't rust in this humidity and I won't go insane. Because the insanity that allows me to run outdoors in this disgusting pre-summer weather (or like a hamster on its wheel at the gym) is far easier to cope with than the insanity I'd suffer if I weren't able to run at all.

PS I'm so over traveling and carseats and not seeing my husband more than 2 or 3 days a week. And why do dogs need to come down with inexplicable bouts of diarrhea as soon as I cross into another state? And why haven't I received any phone calls about showings on our house this weekend?? And I don't even know what I'm going to do for work once we are here. I keep praying the house will sell and finding a job won't be such a pressing issue, but no such luck. In the meantime, Zac already organized a sit-down at a great daycare, which is fantastic and all but shouldn't I be employed if Alexis is to go there? I don't care how cute she is pinning other babies to the floor, she's not getting enrolled 'til mommy's on someone's payroll.

And Zac wonders why I've been freaking out. Or how something as minor as missing a workout can drive me over the edge.

I'm doing the best I can to seem reasonable and in control, but really, I'm Tracy Bonham screaming "EVERYTHING'S FINE!"

Which is why I run. Because even when I have to turn around and come back, for a little while those miles provide a nice wedge between everything I don't want to deal with and my mind's current inability to cope. I'm not going to be able to make any changes to our situation. Can't make the calendar pages turn any faster.

Recipe for success is spelled s-t-e-a-k.

5:45 AM, alarm goes off. I whack the snooze button (which was the plan when I set the alarm) to buy myself 10 more minutes. Whoever decided that races need to start at 7:30 must be that really annoying over-achiever who's like "I'm gonna run 20 miles before work, then take the kids swimming afterwards, then work on my racing scrapbook before I go to bed." Then there's me, who hasn't seen pre-dawn hours since Alexis was 3 months old, and gets really annoyed if asked to do anything before getting to watch Dr. Phil and downing a mug of coffee.


My tummy felt a little off. Was I actually nervous? Yup. This wasn't part of the plan, so I tentatively ate half a bowl of cheerios and took a few sips of some coffee/energy beverage Zac left in the fridge. I just didn't have an appetite for a big meal or real coffee. I figured that ribeye sandwiches (with arugula, roasted red pepper, and brie) the night before would have provided me with sufficient calories anyway.

I got to downtown Greer with 30 minutes to get my chip, hit the restrooms, and warm up. This was a pretty small race so I had more than enough time and didn't feel rushed at all, which is good because I was still kind of waking up.

Gun goes off late and without warning, and we were off. I'd put into practice what I've learned in previous races and decided to start out right up near the front. This saved me from having to go out hard to get out of the bottleneck that occurs at the beginning of almost any race. I hit "play" on my iPod but forgot to start my watch until about 30 seconds into the race. Whoops.

Miles 1-6 were really easy. I'd checked the elevation chart for the course and thought we'd be encountering some tough rolling hills, but all the inclines and declines were really gradual. But I couldn't help but think of the irony of holding an "Earth Day" run that goes by an airport. Hello jet fuel.

At some point during the race my earbuds started crapping out on me and I had to fiddle with them in the little armpouch I was wearing. My car key fell out, and a fellow runner was kind enough to scoop it up and slow down to hand it back to me. Thank you, fellow runner!

Back to the race- miles 7-11 were mostly uphill, but again, with very low (maybe 1%) grades. My competitive streak kind of kicked in when I heard other runners huffing and puffing and starting to try to speed up. I was feeling great so I just kicked it up a gear. I'm like that on the highway too, sometimes. I'm just not a fan of being passed.

Before I knew it, we were at mile 12. I was kind of surprised. I still have a lot of songs on my playlist I hadn't gotten to listen to yet! So I skipped forward to Green Day's "21 Guns" which powered me through the last mile. I almost got emotional, thinking about how lucky I am to have such a strong, healthy baby and to be strong and healthy enough myself to go out and do a half-marathon.

I crossed the finish line in about 1:45, and I'll find out my official chip time by the end of today. I was REALLY surprised by this. I think it was the ribeye and brie. Training may have had a hand in today's result too, but I think good food is a MUST. (NY-style pizza tonight, by the way. Oh, and BEER. Lots of beer.)

"License and registration, please. Is that... whipped cream?"

When I was an intern at our local sports club, I did a big project and presentation for the gym-goers all about pre- and post- workout nutrition. Complete with a colored brochure, a myth / fact sheet, and a smoothie recipe even the club's nutritionist asked me for. Clearly, I ought to know how to do right by my body after a long run.

Cut to me sitting in my car before unbuckling the child and unloading the groceries, spraying whipped cream into my mouth because it's the only thing keeping me from passing out and blaring the horn with my forehead.

Somewhere between being a know-it-all student trainer and becoming a mom, sports nutrition has gone out the window. Instead, I'm stealing yogurt melts from my child, snacking on pop-tarts, and upending Reddi-Whip into my mouth. Anything for a calorie.

I've been doing a little better at dinnertime, though. It's easy enough to eat well, or not crappy, when there are Lean Cuisines out there, but I've actually been taking the time to prepare meals and I can definitely tell my energy levels and muscle recovery are improving. Granted, dinner is at 9:00PM (and accompanied by a large glass of wine), after everyone and everything else has eaten and settled down for the evening, but cooking food for myself kind of feels like giving myself a hug.

Still, it's obvious that I've got to do better. The only thing that kept me from pouring the whipped cream down the hatch while still en route back to the house was the fact that I didn't want other drivers thinking I was huffing with a child in the car. I also didn't want to accidentally huff with my child in the car.

And they warn about the dangers of texting and driving...

just spending a little more time inside my own head, as usual

I don't have much to report / bitch / make meaningless observations about, but I thought it'd be interesting to share how I talked myself through my 10-miler today, since I conventiently left the ipod at home.

Miles 1-3 (all uphill) : This is the easy part. This is a cakewalk. This is nothing. Don't go out too fast. Your legs feel good but don't get too excited or you'll regret it going into mile 4.

Miles 4-6 : Wow, it's hot. My lungs hurt. Damn this pollen. I can feel it sticking to the roof of my mouth. I wonder if this is affecting my O2 uptake or whatever. Should I have turned down this road? Well it's rush-hour so there will be a lot of witnesses if anyone tries to mug me. Good luck to them if they do... they'd get my phone and my car key, and I'd make it to a phone before they'd find my car...

Miles 6-8: More than halfway there! Don't think I'll have to cut this run short after all. Wish I'd brought a water bottle. Oh! The water fountains are on in the park! *gulp gulp gulp*

Miles 8-9: Downhill, finally. Relax. Breathe. You got this. Keep it steady- two more big hills to go.

Mile 9: You fuckin' got this. You're not the fastest. May never be the fastest. But you're here, doing this right now, and that's pretty friggin' awesome. This hill is nothing. This heat is nothing. Just crest this hill and cruise on home.

Mile 10: Water!!!

I think having finally broken my double-digit barrier has given me another much-needed confidence boost with my running. Also, I really enjoy the excuse to chug a bottle of chocolate milk as my recovery drink. Pretty soon I'll have earned back the right... no, the privelege, to indulge in post-run ice baths.

Eighteen days 'til my 1/2 marathon. Still not planning on really racing it, but I know I'll be running it with confidence. And hopefully, at 7:30 in the morning, in much cooler temps. And also, with less pollen. Because that was really gross today.

Sleep? Pfsh.

So I kind of signed up for a half marathon in, like, 3 and a half weeks.

Fortunately, I still accomplished my 9-mile run today despite a very fitful 3 hours of sleep thanks to whatever the hell is wrong with me.

Once every few months I get this unbearable, itchy, crawly sensation on every part of my body. It starts with an itchy toe, then my whole foot will itch, then up the leg, then my back and head... it makes me a little worried.

So I googled my symptoms - like any hysterically exhausted person would do at 4:00 AM - and came up with this: neurotic excoriation. Except, I don't really like that answer. For one, most cases of neurotic excoriation result in flesh wounds caused by obsessive scratching that won't ever heal because of obsessive picking. The other reason I don't like it is that it would lump me in with the rest of the dysfunctional Americans I already make fun of because they make me wonder how we've evolved as a species, what with all of our hoarding, addictions, and ADHD.

Unfortunately, there's no physical explanation for my itch-induced fits of insomnia. I had been prescribed Ambien for this a couple years ago, but I won't take that while home alone with a baby. I've never experienced any unusual side effects, but the last thing I need is to wind up sleep-driving while she cries in her crib because she can't find her paci.

This leaves me fretting about what to do about this race on April 24th. Sleep is so, so important to me, and I'd hate to think something as stupid as a little neurosis could keep from from sleeping or achieving my running goals. I'll run it no matter what, I guess. I mean, these 13.1 miles aren't going to wait for me to have a perfect night's rest, are they?

16 miles and an unofficial shoe review

Yet another reason to frequent your local running store: they don't just clear their shelves for new models like chain stores do. In fact, if they know it's the shoe you want or need, they have no problem letting you walk away with last year's shoe instead of trying to convince you to shell out major dough for a sneaker with updates that you don't really need.

With that said, I would have bought anything with rubber and laces for $60 so long as I didn't have to run another step in my now tread-less Asics GT-2140's. Luckily, what I got for my money was last year's Brooks Adrenaline 9's.

The shoe: pretty good. I mean, I didn't expect to strap them on and start sprinting at a 6 min/mile pace. The thing is, it's kind of hard to gauge the quality of a shoe when you haven't broken in a pair of sneakers in well over a year. So all that "smooth ride" and "great transfer of motion" stuff that people write about kind of escapes me when my big toe (yay, more toe issues) feels like a knife is being driven into it because the top of the shoe has yet to be bent, twisted, and worn into submission. Also, my feet went numb on the first expedition forcing me to stop and re-lace my shoes to prevent any possible amputation situations.

On a more positive note, me and my new kicks logged 16 miles in 3 runs so far this week. So while I'm not making money doing real gear reviews (because I'm not spending the money on it, and that shit ain't free, unless someone wants to send me stuff, but I'm pretty sure I have to advertise or something on my blog...) I feel like I'm getting back to having a pretty solid base. Time to start looking at upcoming races in cities that I can easily drive to, since flying and hotels are kind of out of the question if I have to factor in the cost of entry. Which brings me to my next point...

Why is racing so friggin' expensive? I mean, the swag bag is cool and all, but if I kindly decline the t-shirt and free goo, can I please just pay for my bib and chip, which - let's me honest - can't cost more than a few bucks a piece. Yeah, I know there's the cost of hiring police to monitor the course and other venue expenses, but still, I can't justify flying and paying for lodging on top of a $100+ race. Which leaves me all depressed when I read race report after race report that I can't join in on the fun on my part-time server salary.

I worry that if I don't race I'm not a runner, despite the miles I may log. Why does it seem that you're not taken seriously in the running community if you don't cross at least a dozen finish lines a year?

Thank You. Not an Alanis Morissette song, I promise.

I'd like to take a moment to thank running for so many, many things.

Thank you for letting me play like a real runner and do things like bust out a 7.5 mile run in 60 minutes.

Thank you for always being there for me, even when I break up with you for silly things like nursing an injury (broken toe much?) or being with child.

Thank you for making me feel strong and capable, even when I have all these new floppy bits that show through my cool running shirts and I still need to wear two running bras.

Thank you for helping me take 52 minutes today to run like before I was pregnant and rock out like before I graduated high school.

Thank you for giving me something else other than motherhood to define myself by. I'm fine with being fully immersed in the world of kisses, giggles, gurgles, and love (also snot, spit-up, and poo), but it's nice to take a break from babycenter.com and go over to runnersworld.com instead (just as much trolling and flaming, but way less paranoia).

Thank you for allowing me to not have to strictly adhere to a diet of steel-cut oats and bean sprouts. You may not enjoy chik-fil-a before intervals, but you sure do love it afterwards.

Most importantly, thank you for helping me undo years of bad behavior that may have lead to a decade or more of damage had I not rediscovered you after I was through being a smoking, rock-climbing, wanna-be-rockstar pseudo-badass.

If Clumsiness were an Olympic sport...

That damn toe. The left pinkie. It now requires either reconstructive surgery or amputation. Can you run without a pinkie toe?

After it's last mishap - a well-time collision with an old floor vent on the day I was supposed to go for my first postpartum run - it twists inward at an awkward angle and no longer makes contact with the floor. It also doesn't curl when I flex my toes (as a point of reference, I checked to make sure my right pinkie toe does curl, just so I knew for sure that the left one was messed up).

Now that it sticks up ever so slightly, it finds things to continue to stub itself on. The fact that the baby crap in our house seems to multiply faster than the gremlins doesn't help. My husband swore up and down that our house wouldn't become that house. You know, the one with walker 2 feet from the entryway, the jumperoo in the middle of the living room, the swing in the corner, and the high chair taking up half the kitchen. But alas, we have that house.

Anyway, it wasn't actually a piece of baby-restraining or entertaining equipment that caught my toe this time, it was the dryer. I know- how does my toe just reach out and collide with the dryer like that? It's beyond me. But running hurts again and I'm not happy about it. Notice the use of bold font.

I managed 1.6 miles on the treadmill before the dull ache progressed to a quiet roar so I switched to the elliptical to finish my workout. And I wonder, will I ever break 7 miles again?

To say I'm frustrated is an understatement.

I'm reading all my other mommy-friends' posts about exhilarating runs of 9, 10, and 16 miles and wonder when will it be my turn again? Do I have to wait until my daughter is in half-day preschool or boarding the big yellow bus? Is finally moving to Georgia the answer so that I have the husband there to assist in baby-care, or will my phalanges find a way to sabotage my efforts once more?

Ok, I know "Waaaah!" I'll shut up now.

Right now, my strength-maintenance plan consists of running when my toe is comfortable, and going at it on the elliptical or spin bike like a madwoman when it's not. I also decided I need to get back to doing yoga. Every day. My shoulders and hamstrings aren't sure they agree but I know they'll come around. And my hill running will thank me in the end. So will my baby, when my arms are able to accommodate her every growth spurt.

Rules of the Road.

In order to not sound like a completely misanthropic bitch, I wish to preface the following blog by giving a kudos to you average Joe's and Jane's who choose outdoor activity over sitting inside playing video games or watching "Jersey Shore". Even more kudos to you if you have children and you drag them out with you.



With that said...


I can't stand how the first really nice day of the year draws out all the people who have been in hibernation since the first time the mercury dipped below 59 degrees. They don't know how to share the trails and bike paths, they don't call out to their hyperactive 4-year-olds to keep them from darting in front of runners and bikers, and they still dress like a winter storm is on the horizon (quilted down coats and Ugg boots on a 65-degree day? Really?).


Can we all just agree to follow a few basic rules so that us all-weather, all-terrain badasses can peacefully coexist with you fair-weather pseudo-recreationists? Because the only thing I love more than composing lists is to be able to run without having to dart into oncoming traffic because you don't know how to share the sidwalk.


1. Trail traffic should mimic road traffic. Keep right, pass left. If you are moving slowly, you should keep to the far right edge of the trail. Please do not wander in a drunken zig-zag pattern all over the path as you hollar into your blue-tooth because EVERYONE IN THE PARK NEEDS TO KNOW YOU'RE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE PHONE CALLS EVEN WHILE WALKING.


2. I know I've mentioned this in a previous blog somewhere, but please, please keep your children and elders within arms' reach. Your children are little, don't look before running across the path, and are very easy to trip over. Your elderly are hard of hearing and startle easily when someone tries to pass on the left, often stopping short as they spin around in bewilderment, unsure which way to go and in the process blocking the path entirely.


3. If you are traveling in a group, it is not only helpful but extremely courteous to walk in pairs on the right-hand side of the sidewalk or trail, not 6 abreast. It is also nice if you're not all tapping away at your Iphones and Crackberries, updating your Facebook statuses. I mean, learn how to fucking converse, people.

4. Glen Beck is a jerk with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. This has nothing to do with parks or recreation but when I told my husband I was blogging he insisted I include something that shares our distaste for him.

5. Don't try to hand out religious pamphlets to a runner. It just doesn't work (or they're already saved or what have you). Yes, this has happened to me - not in our local park but on a run just the same.

6. Please provide enough room for the lady with the jogger or stroller as you pass each other on the path or sidewalk. I mean really, a quick glance up is all it takes to realize Oh, she's gonna have to go off the curb with her baby if I don't move over a little. Besides which, next person whose lazy ass doesn't move over is gonna get clipped in the achilles by a Babytrend tire.

7. Dogs. Leash training. Learn it. But, if you just carry your dog around anyway, please stay home. You're really annoying to look at.

That's all I have for now. If you have any more peeves to share, please do. Don't leave me hanging - I know I can't be the only person who has these thoughts... although, perhaps the jerkiest.

Maintenance mode. It's a good, but very boring place to be, running wise. With no long races to train for, let alone much time to accomplish long runs while the baby is in my care, I've fallen into the running zone that is more than just working out but not quite like being in training. Like, if I had to push out a 7-minute mile right now I could. But... I just don't wanna.

And I started the pill this month. Sorry mom, but there will be no grandbaby #2 any time soon. I'm not sure if it's causing me to feel this ickiness that I've felt or if I just have it in my head that the pill is the culprit because I wasn't so fun to be around when I was on it 10 years ago (stop doing the math - I know, I was young. But at least I can say my First was also my Last). Regardless, I've just been tired, and kinda nauseous, and really not a fan of going out of my house. It's been so much easier, and nicer, to curl up in bed with the baby, playing and giggling and napping. This is how I felt (minus the wanting to lay in bed with a baby part) the first few days of every pill pack last time I was on it, so I figured this laziness can be attributed to that, but I worry that my lack of any kind of training routine can also be to blame.

I mean, if I had a run scheduled, I'd do it. No matter what. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't cause some issues in my marriage, because of course it would lead to those fun conversations: "You're too tired for me but not tired enough to run?"(him) and "You say you want to run a race with me but you never want to run when I do."(me). And now that I have the jogger, a weather shield and bunting so I can't be accused of child abuse for taking my child out on chilly days, I really should have no excuses. I mean, I have a friend that's been doing her long runs as scheduled all throughout the winter. In Omaha. What's my excuse?

I guess it's this pseudo-single motherhood thing. Being on my own most of the week makes it more difficult to get out there, and I hate calling on the grandparents to babysit when I want to run more than 7 miles, without the jogger.

Well the husband has officially signed with the company he's been working for as an independant contractor and located some decent apartment complexes with discounted rates for employees of that company. If all works out in the next few weeks, I won't be going it alone as much anymore, and maybe then I'll finally get myself out of maintenance mode and be able to start some real training.

Happy Birthday To Meeeee

In past years I've been stuck at work, pregnant and unable to drink, or both on my birthday, so this year I have absolutely no qualms with actually making my birthday known and celebrating it.

So, happy friggin' birthday to me.

I'm 27, which means I've graduated from being in my 20's to being in my late 20's.

I survived a year of being pregnant, keeping fit, continuing my education, and the constant uncertainty of my husband's ever-changing job situation (We're moving. We're not moving. We're moving. We're not moving... you get the idea).

At 23 - 6 months after quitting smoking and starting a workout regimine - I said I felt the healthiest I'd ever been in my entire life. I've been able to say the same thing every year since, including this one.

I am really glad I didn't wait until I was 30 to start having kids.

I love that getting older makes it okay (dare I say it- cool, even) to get caught up in "old-school" shit like watching Fresh Prince and Saved By The Bell.

Over a decade ago, when I was actually on the cross country and track team, I couldn't imagine actually craving to go on a run, let alone an "easy" 5, 6, or 7 miles.

While I often overhear younger coworkers' weekend plans with a twinge of envy, I wouldn't give up this homebody kind of life for anything. I'll take snuggling with my daughter, doggies, and husband over any downtown scene any day. Whereas before, one might be considered a loser for her lack of a social life, at my age it is totally acceptable to schedule a night in. Who cares if it's like, every night?

When you're anywhere between the ages of 19 and 26, being cynical usually just means you're jaded. When you're 27, being cynical means you're wise enough to accept the fact that nobody is above douchebaggery. Not even yourself.

There's so much more about this upcoming year and the age I will so proudly exclaim whenever carded for a glass of wine or martini (Shush. It still happens.) that I could go on about, but I'll sum it all up with saying that I am extremely grateful to be where I am. I really don't feel like I'm getting older, just... growing.

And it doesn't scare me that I'm fastly approaching 30, either. 30 is like the new 15 anyway, right?

something to think about before you tip your server 7.5%

I have a beer and a martini in me, work last night was hell, and I'm ready to blog.

I ran my first race since before I got pregnant yesterday. I kept myself from racing my entire pregnancy because I didn't want to be tempted to push too hard, and I didn't want to pay for races if I wasn't really going to race. So going into this race, I had no way of gauging how I'd do.

The race is one our local paper sponsors every January, so it was just a downtown loop on roads I was mostly familiar with. I finished in 22:58 - nearly throwing up along the way - which I can honestly say I'm pretty happy with considering that I have not done any kind of structured speed work and have only been able to make it out for about 3 runs a week. Now I have a clear starting point, from which I can determine how I need to pace myself when training for the next race.

One thing I have not missed about racing or race training, however, would be having to work on the same day as a race or hard workout. The reality of being a mom in my late 20's hits me hard enough when I'm waiting on people still pouring Cosmos down the hatch at 11:00PM. Add a race to the mix and I'm just a mess. Put me in charge of a 15-top that does not grasp the fact that I can't telepathically order their food and beverage while simultaneously answering questions (and that no one will have anything in front of them so long as they hold me up at the table), and I'm ready to kill someone.

One of my coworkers told me I had the craziest "crazy eyes" they'd ever seen that night, as I exclaimed, "I'm fine! I swear!" after seeing that one of the couples at the table left me $5 on a $66 bill. They must have been disappointed that I - heaven forbid - had other tables to wait on and could not commit to being their personal servant for the evening.

So this is why I need to get faster - so I can race professionally. Sounds like a good plan, right? Although, I don't think beers or martinis play very well into that plan.

I can see clearly now...

I'm going to make a confession now that will probably catch me some major flack amongst the general female population: I've always thought the majority of moms who claim they don't have enough time to work out / eat healthy were just lazy.

Now hear me out.

I'm not talking about being a mom and running 50 miles a week. I'm also not talking about being a mom and making it to the gym 5 days a week. I'm just talking about getting out there, doing what you can, and making smarter-than-average choices when it comes to the food you put on your plate. After all, I know I am hardly the picture of fitness - let along running -perfection, as I accomplished a whopping 3 runs totalling 14 miles last week.

But amidst the chaos that I've come to accept as my life as of late, I am beginning to understand where the downward slide might begin. And it all starts with that one delayed workout.

It's gorgeous out - 62 degrees in January - I'm pretty well rested and I know that all it would take to bust out a few quick miles would be to change out of my frumpy nursing bra (which, by the way, is a piss-poor excuse for a bra) and into my beautiful new Fiona (an excellent sports bra, if you're on the hunt for one). But alas, reality is at the door, and she doesn't ring the doorbell. She knocks. First politely. Then, obnoxiously. Incessantly. Until finally, I am forced to cave and say, "OK, Life. FINE. I'll do whatever you need so that you will eventually leave me the fuck alone."

Except life leaves me alone at 11:22 PM. Not really the best time to run. It is, however, a fantastic time to catch up on the episodes of The Office I DVR'd on the TBS Tuesday-night marathon and sip on an oversized Bombay Sapphire martini until I feel fuzzy in the face.

So I think, "Well, tomorrow will be a good day to run. I've dealt with Life as much as I am capable of and it can't possibly expect more from me at this point." But sure enough, tomorrow comes, and Life springs a new one on me. The husband schedules the floors to be refinished, so we are kicked out of our home for a week. But then the husband comes home from work on Friday sick. Then I find out my mother mother - who the baby and I were staying with for 5 days - is also ill. Then the baby gets sick. Then the mother-in-law.

I have remained completely healthy through all this, but definitely a little worse for the wear. Which is why, instead of having ran today, I indulged in pizza, chocolate, and Bombay.

So to all of you moms out there who've had to put everyone and everything before yourselves - I offer you my empathy. It's hard to squelch that voice that screams at you to do what you want to do when everyone else yanks you in the opposite direction. It takes a lot to run. It takes a lot more not to.

22:30 is the new 21:00

I just signed up for my first race in 15 months - since the marathon I ran a couple weeks before I got pregnant.

It's just a 5K, but I need to do something to see if I have my racing legs back. I've been doing my 5-milers at what I consider to be a respectable pace, usually busting out a sub-8 minute mile or two towards the end. I don't know if this will make my 5K time any better than my current personal best but I do feel that my legs are somehow stronger than before. Maybe it's the countless lunges with 17 pounds of extra weight resting on my hip to pick up dropped binkies. Or perhaps it's the fun new squat maneuver that involves getting up off the floor from a cross-legged position unaided (while holding the before mentioned extra weight). Surely, this child has become the best resistance routine these glutes have ever seen.

As I look forward to this race - now 11 days away - I feel like I'm ready to get back into running. Not like these past few months of me playing pretend a few days a week on the treadmills and ellipticals at the gym. I want to plan and train for races. I want to get excited about new gear and have a reason to use it. I want to be able to justify dropping a Saturday night's worth of tips on a new pair of sneakers.

I even re-subscribed to Runners World. I can't have that magazine showing up at my doorstep if I don't look the part, right? Besides which, I can only take so much of the parenting magazines that magically started showing up the day after I arrived home with Alexis. Of course I skip right to the "school age" portion of the magazine, because I enjoy hyperventillating about the day Alexis comes off the bus in tears because the other kids are just so mean and I wasn't there to kick their asses. I digress.

My goal is 22:30. That's a 7:30 min/mile pace (I'm sure you could do the math, but if not, don't feel bad because I sat here counting it out on my fingers). I know that in the past I've been capable of faster, but I'm not sure how much my body will tolerate this time around. My legs could take it, I'm sure, but I have new aches to pay attention to, such as the site of my incision. I've been warned that it could feel uncomfortable months, even years after a cesarean, but I have yet to learn google how it will affect my running down the line.

If anyone out there knows, please enlighten me!

My New Year

As we usher out the old year (or flee from it) and welcome the new, it seems many people are in the mood to reminisce. You, undoubtedly, have already been tagged by 27 friends on Facebook to complete some sort of 2009 survey or 'top 10 moments' list. I have too but the trouble is, I haven't been in a reminiscing kind of mood.

With the birth of my child, I'd like to say I've become a little bit more of a live-in-the-moment kind of gal, but that isn't exactly true, either. I still fret about the future, both far and near, and get caught up in meaningless details like a never-ending pile of dirty laundry or crumbs on the kitchen counter. One thing I don't do so much anymore, however, is get caught up in the past. At least not when it comes to anything that happened before Alexis came into our lives.

I'd heard women say before that their lives seemed to be missing something before having children. But as you don't know how good your life can be with something if you've never had it before, they didn't realize how much more complete they'd feel with a child. I personally despise trite phrases as a means of summing up my emotions about a life-altering event, but there's no other way to put it than to say that I, too, felt a new sense of completion as I first held Alexis in my arms.

Which is why I can't reminisce that much about last year. Everything up until the day I went into labor was, well, life as usual. Work, school, erands, even the ups and downs of pregnancy, were all experienced with a dulled sense of awareness compared to how much more real life became with a baby. My baby.

My new year started on August 5th, 2009. The first day of Alexis Rose's life also became the first day of mine.

12 days of Christmas? I'm ok with 3, thanks.

I love my family, really do, so all I'll say regarding the topics "Family" and "Holidays" is thank God I got out for a couple of runs last week.


My running is still in maintenance mode but I'll take whatever I can get just to get out the door. What was great this past month is that I was able to resume my pseudo-annual tradition* of getting out for a jaunt on Thanksgiving and Christmas. The traffic's lighter, the air is crisp and cool, and it seems there is a heightened sense of camaraderie with the other runners out on the sidewalks and trails. Each time you pass a fellow runner, there's an exchange of knowing nods, as if to say, "we could be stuffing our faces with gravy-slathered proteins and multiple varieties of pies right now, but we are running instead (or so that we can commence with the face-stuffing later.)"


*when not experiencing first-trimester funsies like gagging at everything or needing to sleep 14 hours a day.


This year, getting out for my Christmas run was especially appreciated. It was a chance to step away from the awkwardness of my blunt, inappropriate family conversing with my husband's reserved, overly-polite family. The baby - the universal buffer for uncomfortable family situations - was sleeping, and I was in no mood to deal with the carnage of wrapping paper and ribbon barfed up all over my living room floor. The men would watch their Celtics game, the women would discuss safe topics such as cooking or after-Christmas sales, and I would get my run. Even if it was only 5 miles, run a bit too hard for the hills and the fact that my feet hadn't seen actual pavement for several days, it was a much-needed reprieve.

Of course, my mother thinks I'm nuts and that I'm addicted to exercise. But I think, by nature, she has to be worried about someone. That, or she just enjoyed me more when I was large and raiding her cabinet for cookies.

Well for the holidays, I did eat those cookies, but I ran them off, too. With the calories, I burned stress, anxiety, frustration, and every other negative emotion that manifests from too much vomit-enducing tinsel and Barry Manilow.

Happy Holidays, everyone. Hope you enjoyed it and got some good runs in, too.

if there were a REAL "Real Housewives" show and I were on it, my self-naration would sound much like this:

Husband dearest works out of town 3-5 days a week so that we can have lovely things like a house, heat, cars, internet, cell phones, and cable. I work 2-3 shifts a week so we can have extras, like the occassional shopping trip at Whole Foods instead of the "regular" super market, nice bottles of Ripasso or Bordeaux, and meals not horribly botched by me trying to play "Top Chef" on my electric range.



I am eternally grateful for these amenities and know how incredibly lucky we are - especially this time of year - to have what much of young America, I'm sure, takes for granted. Our generations' hardships may only include having to watch Sesame Street on a dinky little 10" black and white TV and being forced to wear clothes from Caldor when the family budget was tight, but that's still a far cry from the things kids today wouldn't know how to live without: Hulu, PS2's, and 3G networks. God, I even find myself bitching when a certain channel doesn't come in in HD, because it's all blurry on our giant TV. So I'm really not much better than those spoiled brats, am I?



So considering the things we're now accustomed to having as part of our daily lives, it's no wonder that when my laptop is busted, the cable goes out during a storm and the baby's asleep, I'm so painfully bored I start picking away at still relatively in-tact nailpolish just to have an excuse to paint my nails again. Or I start scribbling what I think are witty thoughts and observations on one of the million of cards you mail in for a subscription that fall out of the magazine you've already subscribed to -- but I'm using this scrap of paper as a bookmark in a crappy book that I'm forcing myself to finish because I borrowed it from the library and damn it I'm going to become more literate and intellectual if it kills me, but once I'm done with the book I forget about the ramblings I've written down and throw the card away. Or I start watching so many recorded episodes of "The Office" I start dreaming about being in a screaming match with Dwight and Michael.



This is where someone interjects, saying, "Yes, but, if you're bored, then you're boring." Well, that's okay, because I actually feel pretty damn boring.



I mean, all I have to talk about is being a mom, running, and... uh, that's about it. There's only so much to discuss (or write) about the variety of poo consistencies and colors, how many planned runs you didn't do and why you couldn't do them, how thick to make your rice cereal and what to mix it with, and the ungodly amount of calories you're consuming while breastfeeding and - again - how many times you've failed to get out to burn them off...



... Hm? Sorry. I just put myself to sleep.



I just hope, as I go on and on and on about how sorry I am for myself (someone please play me out on the violin) someone is out there reading this thinking, "Thank God, I'm not alone!"

This one is (almost) in real-time, I swear.

Okay, it's 2:02 PM, the child is napping peacefully, and I am inspired to finally update this thing and try to keep it going. I figured of all the places I post my run-on ramblings, this is probably the one I should maintain should I get ambitious again and decide to actually save all of these entries to a thumbdrive and not Google's / Blogger's database.



Speaking of Google, has anyone tried Wave? I got an invite, took one look at it, and said, "Uh, no." The truth of the matter is: I'm unpopular. And I don't mean that in a "Guess I'll go eat worms..." kind of way, it's just that, I'm a stay-at-home mom (on the baby boards, we call ourselves SAHM's, because we're so busy between feedings, changings, and burpings, that we have created an accronym for everything.) for part of the week, and I work part-time for the rest. My friends are my coworkers, and besides our shifts together we don't see much of each other because they, too, have pressing obligations outside of work. Maybe I'll give Google Wave a little more time though before deciding whether it's worthwhile. Although I have a feeling it will have the same fate as my Twitter account: Floating off somewhere in cyberspace, user name and password long-forgotten.



Now that I've openned with that light-hearted but boring detail about my life, on to more depressing issues.



We lost another kitty this week.



We knew he was sick from the beginning, infected probably at birth with the feline leukemia virus. For the most part, these kittens, when found by or brought in to a shelter, are put down. We kept this kitten, and immunized the other two. He started showing signs of being ill not long after our Mia (who passed away early October) came down with pancreatitis. At first we were told it was allergies, and given an antihistamine that rendered him a useless lump of a cat. So we took him off of it and brought him back to the vet because his symptoms - coughing and wheezing - didn't subside. "Might be asthma," said the more optomistic of the two Dr's at the clinic. So we put him on a mild steroid and witnessed noticable improvement. But then he took a sudden downturn, losing weight, becoming listless once again, and developing an abscess on his rear. It turns out he had a blood parasite which, due to the virus, he couldn't fight off. We were going to take him this past Monday morning to be euthanized but he didn't even make it to crate.



I try not to be that downer who only looks at the negative events in her life, not only further depressing herself but everyone around her, but I'm not going to lie, it's tough. Having a child certainly helps me focus on the positive, but my heart aches for my kitties. Lord knows what a mess I'll be when my dogs reach that age. Ugh, see, that's what I mean. I hate when I start thinking like that.

Well the holidays are soon upon us and it will be time to take stock in the many blessings we still have. Holy crap, that sounded cheesier than a Hallmark card. Apologies.

But seriously, I'm determined to have a good Christmas. For starters, having this be my first Christmas with a kid is pretty exciting. I've never been one to ooh and aah over cute kiddy outfits but it's different if it's your own cute kid that you're outfitting. Second, having a child imediately absolves me of any cooking or hosting responsibilities, in my mind. I may string some lights and throw some Pillsbury biscuits in the oven. No one should count on me for much more than that. Third, my husband and I are actually in a position to hook our closest family and friends up with decent gifts this year. It will feel really good to give back, especially considering all the help we've received rennovating our home and babysitting our child.

So long as no more animals die and no one decides to tell me I need to make the Christmas ham, we'll be all good here.

the last of the missing blogs

11/11/2009

I had this big plan to get started on a big, ambitious, training plan that would have me shattering my PR's in no time...

... it's so not happenin'.

Now that's not to say I haven't been running or working out semi-regularly. I have. I'm running, going to spin classes that whoop my butt, and doing intense cardiovascular efforts on the elliptical. I can whip out a 7-minute mile if I have to, although probably only one. But I'm sure I'm not the only first-time mom to discover that getting on a training schedule and actually finding time to stick to it are two completely different games.

Ah.. parenthood.

So I'm implementing a new plan. A very non-planish plan. It involves running whenever I can, breaking out the Baby Trend Expedition jogger that I found for a steal on Craigslist (Yesssss), and making the most of every effort, every time. My easy miles will surely be the ones with the child in tow. I'll do fartleks on the treadmill when crappy weather forces me indoors. And if the gym's nursery is closed AND there's a monsoon outside, I'll go old-school with some Burpees in my living room (after burping my daughter, so that she can sit in the swing and watch mommy get her Jane Fonda on).

Something about this new free-style approach to running appeals to me. I no longer feel any sense of anxiety when I head out the door without my ipod or my watch. I'm content to just run and I don't need a second hand or 90's alternative to distract me from the task at hand. I love my child and nothing in this world can replace the heady, blissful feeling of being a mom, but, I could sometimes do without the constant schlepping of diaper bags and cumbersome strollers. Running is my chance to do that.

So no more logging miles for me. Each day I run (when I can), I'll just try to do a little more than the time before. That's goal enough for me.

another lost entry

10/6/2009

I had meant to write a couple weeks ago about my first run postpartum - an overly ambitious but exhilarating 4-miler that I felt for the next 3 days - but then life happened. Yet another lesson of motherhood.

First, after a glance at a checking account balance with a big fat negative sign in front of it, I headed back to work. Nothing like serving to use up the rest of the energy you don't having after taking care of a newborn and trying to squeeze in a few workouts a week. It's not all bad, however. The time outside of the house interacting with other adults is somewhat refreshing. It reminds me that I'm more than my daughter's milkmaid.

Next, came a surprise visit from friends. They had driven 14 hours to see me, when I had thought they wouldn't be able to visit until the spring. I certainly enjoyed the company, and they did their best to lend a hand with meals and watching my daughter so I could put my feet up (or down, as it were, for the occasional walk or jog). But when you're running off to your bedroom every 2 hours to feed an always-hungry child, the novelty of having company can wear out real quick! My friends stayed for just the right amount of time - 3 1/2 days - after which I was not only grateful to return to work after caring for an overstimulated baby, but happy just to have the house to myself (I enjoy peeing without worrying if the bathroom door is latched).

The most recent interruption to my blogging and running efforts was the saddest; the passing of one of our beloved furry family members, a cat named Mia. She was our "Sweet Kitty" (the other two are Dominc aka "Fatass" and Nico aka "A--hole"). She had struggled with what we thought was pancreatitis, only to suffer a sudden decline in health despite giving her antibiotics and changing her diet. It turns out she may have actually had pancreatic cancer. Not being able to afford kitty-chemo (and not having an guarantee that it would have helped), we sadly said goodbye to her yesterday.

All of this leaves me wishing I had spent more time cherishing the days I could just step out the door and go run. I'm perfectly fine with running taking a back seat until my child is in preschool, but I still wish I had enjoyed it more when I didn't have to think twice about hitting the pavement for a 7-miler. But now there are so many things to think about; is my daughter well-fed? Do I have enough milk thawed for the sitter? Have I given all the animals their meds (Mia was not our only health-challenged animal)? Should I put my daughter in a clean outfit? Is there enough clean laundry - somewhere - if she needs to be changed again?

I have to cherish the simple moments as they come now, and not let them slip by in my impatience to get out for a run. I just keep hoping that one or two jaunts a week will be enough for my legs to remember what to do when I am ready to go out a little bit more, a little bit faster, and with fewer worries on my mind.

too lazy to back-date my entries

9/6/2009

While running is still out of the question this soon after my cesarean, I decided that once I hit the one-month mark I would have to go to the gym. For my body. For my sanity. So what do I do the morning of my much-anticipated return to regular workouts? Jam my pinky toe, causing it to do a split in a direction that toes just don't bend.

This, I considered, might be lesson #48 in learning to cope with the unexpected. You can keep yourself as fit and healthy as possible, but it won't guarantee an easy labor. You can psyche yourself up for your first hard workout in months, but get sidelined on your way there. You just have to deal with the hand you're dealt, no matter how frustrated you feel.

I couldn't do the workout I'd planned for the elliptical so I got on a spin bike instead. I couldn't so much as walk my dogs without causing my poor lil' toe more pain so I supplemented with squats and deadlifts. And as far as running is concerned- it's still possible for me at some point in the future, but exactly when is still uncertain. I'm not really okay with that, but I have to be.

While I'm waiting to transform my body back to it's pre-pregnancy level of fitness, I am undergoing a transition of another kind. This time last year, I was closing in on the final weeks before my second marathon. My goal was to run 8-minute splits for most of the race, and training to do so was the only thing that was important to me. If my running schedule got messed up due to work or family commitments, I'd go nuts. That doesn't - and can't - happen anymore. I will definitely run more marathons, but I'll have to be more flexible with my scheduling. It will be a balancing act; one that will require as much training as the race itself. All of my lofty running ambitions will be set aside as I attempt to reach just one goal: to be runner and a mom.

Scratch that, to be a mom and a runner.

3 months of missing blogs

Holy crap this thing is still here. Whoops. Here are some missing blogs (from my Loop blog on runnersworld.com)

8/27/2009

Running and I used to have quite a thing for each other. More than a fling, but not quite a marriage, it was a reliable if not always consistent relationship. At times it developed into a full-blown infatuation; I allowed running to completely dictate my every move. Other times it was nothing more than a fleeting thought, on the back burner of someone else's stove.
This is one of those other times.

The rhythmic sound of perfectly worn soles on concrete sidewalks is replaced by the "click, swoosh," of a baby swing. The pace that could stir up a breeze on the most humid of days has slowed to an overly cautious stroll. Training guides and inspirational running novels collect dust on the bookshelf while breastfeeding manuals and "Parents" magazines pile up all over our living room. I knew this is how my priorities would shift during my pregnancy and recently, the arrival of our daughter, but I didn't not expect to feel this sense of hopelessness toward running. It feels as though we've broken up.

I had a relatively easy pregnancy so I was able to run through about 6 months or so, after which the way I was carrying made running unbearably uncomfortable. I maintained my fitness with the elliptical and spinning until the end of my 7th month, after which my job as a server provided me with more than enough physical activity. I went on long, hilly walks and hikes the days I didn't work to maintain some strength in my legs and to prevent those dreaded "cankles." Somewhere in my naive mind, I suspected it would only be a matter of a few weeks after giving birth that I'd not only be running again, but I'd almost certainly be doing a tempo run or speedwork. What did I get for all of that optimism? A Cesarean delivery that, 3 weeks later, leaves me aching if I so much as get up wrong, let alone attempt to move faster than 2.5 miles per hour.

So where does this leave me and running? I haven't the slightest idea. Asking other women in online forums when they resumed their workout routines after a c-section hasn't been helpful, because there's always at least 4 or 5 women who chime in about their gruesome mishaps. "I sneezed when I was 15 days postpartum and ripped myself apart!!! Don't do ANYTHING!!!" Any other advice sounds like a broken record; "Take it easy... listen to your body... you're a mom so running isn't important..." I don't even know why I bothered asking other women when really, I just want to fast-forward a few months and get a glimpse of my future self. Will I be sane? Will I be fit? Will running and I have found our way back together?

Right now, I know it's just not going to happen. Nothing would be worse than to be too hasty returning to any type of training and as a result, injuring myself beyond repair. If I want running to be something more than a memory, I have to spend a little more time accepting that it's only a memory for now. Perhaps this isn't a breakup, but only a break. No need to burn photographs or pawn any jewelry yet.

almost there and not quite

9 weeks.

For me, 9 weeks means 6, because after 6 weeks, I have to be ready for anything to happen at any moment.

Even if I go late, I know at this point that I can't be lulled into a false sense of security, like we often do with other projects and deadlines. Nine weeks feels like plenty of time, but this isn't like preparing for a paper that I can write in 24 hours, or cramming for a final exam. Every step I take towards preparing for Alexis' arrival reveals at least 3 more things that need to get done. This leads me to believe that no amount of work accomplished will actually help me feel like I've completed anything, because also unlike preparing for a project, everything we do is a means to a beginning, not an end.

And then there's the physical aspect of the whole thing. She's in there, right now, bouncing around on my bladder and kicking my ribs. From time to time she'll stretch, making my belly bulge and contort. Pretty soon, she'll be wiggling and kicking and stretching but she'll be in my arms, for me to see; a real human being. No longer tucked away as a passenger, she'll be vulnerable and exposed. We're going to be the only things between her and the rest of the world, responsible for introducing her to it, but protecting her from it at the same time.

I know we'll be ready. There isn't much choice in that matter anymore, is there? But I do still feel some conflicting emotions, mostly centered around the dichotomy between the rolls I've possessed and the roll I will soon fulfill. I know, in reality, that being a mom does not mean I will stop being anything else - especially not when it comes to my marriage or my running - but for a little while, at least, doing the best I can at this new roll will be my one and only focus. I don't exactly feel like a mom just yet, but I figure that will come soon enough....

the time-honored art of pregnancy and paranoia

What did women do before we had doctors to scare us into doing nothing more than lay on the sofa, watching our bellies expand?

Now, granted, the infant survival rate has increased exponentially with the technological advances in the neonatal medical community, but some of the stuff doctors tell us to do (or, I should say not to do) during our 40-week gestation has me wondering how the human species even survived before some of these rules were in place.

About once a week, a woman shares her concerns on the women's forum at Runnersworld.com that she would not be able to work out - at all - during her pregnancy because she has a doctor who thinks no pregnant woman should run. Forget the fact that she's been running for 14 years. Forget the fact that she's had no pain, no spotting, or any other indication that something is "not right," and therefor shouldn't run. Forget the fact that in 2002, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology released new guidelines for exercise during pregnancy stating that all pregnant women, provided the absence of any complications, should accumulate 30 minutes of moderate exercise every day.

I mean, anyone who can type "g-o-o-g-l-e" can find a wealth of information that will tell her that exercise during pregnancy is not only safe, it's recommended. At my last appointment, I was instructed not to drink any coffee or our little girl would be moving around to much to be able to tell that she was, well, a girl. Without my morning buzz, my blood pressure was 90/60. Gestational diabetes and hypertension are still too common during pregnancy, especially with women who start out overweight to begin with. Why on earth would a doctor discourage any sort of activity? Maybe she shouldn't run if she's never run a step in her life, but those same doctors that think running is a no-no also think exceeding 140 beats per minute is also dangerous.

FYI, if you are already in decent shape, 140 bpm is a jog. It's a brisk walk up a very steep hill. You might break a sweat, but you're breathing just fine. And if you're in decent shape but pregnant, you experience spikes in heart rate that get you up to that 140 bpm much faster than normal, although the perceived effort is no more or less. It's just your heart working harder to deliver more blood to the creature in your uterus.

I know I've been on this soapbox before (possibly even in this blog but I'm pregnant, I forget things easily), but it just amazes me the lack of legitimate information some doctors continue to practice on. I understand not taking aspirin or sharing a beverage with my husband... but don't take my exercise away.

my april fools

Since you had to leave I haven't been in the spirit of trying to trick anyone. It was anything but a trick that you had to go so soon, two days before April Fools, but I was left feeling a fool for not seeing it coming faster than anyone could anticipate.

The first year was the hardest. There were so many changes that you would not be able to be a part of, yet so many more that may not have taken place had you still been here. Relationships crumbled and were either rebuilt or left behind as tainted memory. We each faltered in different ways, with no other option than to blame your not being here for it. The wear of your absence was evident on all of our faces, yet we knew that the toll of your persistent condition would have been greater had you survived.

The second year brought the initial signs of relief. We worked towards defining ourselves outside of the loss. Questions would still crop up from time to time that could not be answered, reminding us of your invaluable wealth of knowledge, making us miss you harder, but appreciate you more. While the first year was about the pain, the second year was about the forgiveness - seeing you as a person, versus the wandering ghost of a man we had become accustomed to long before you actually left. We learned to accept and embrace your faults as we're forced to with our own, and finally face the world as "grown ups," or something like that.

The third year brought a return to normalcy. Some of us went on with our lives as we had been, others moved to pursue new directions. Some of us learned to live with others, while others learned how to live alone. You still show up in my dreams, but my mind's image of you has changed from the slow-moving, lost man I remember to a more youthful playful spirit that I recall knowing in my youth. Each dream is the same; I ask you why you are there, and you say, "Eh. Don't worry about. I'm supposed to be here," and you smile. Last time I saw you, I was setting up a pic-nic lunch on a patio for the family, and you were sitting up on some perch, looking like a photo I've seen of you just past your college years, swinging your legs, eager to watch everyone gather. We both know you weren't really supposed to be there, but I was the only one who saw you, and you winked at me, like it was going to be our secret.

Now we enter the fourth year, and I know you'll be there as I bring your granddaughter into the world. I hope to see you as I fall asleep with her in my arms, and I will think that maybe, behind her closed eyes, she'll see you too.

Yeah, so about this blogging thing

It has been pointed out to me that I haven't really been keeping up with my end of the bargain, that is, that I would post something for you to read. Of course, to have continued to post through the craziness that is my life (I mean really, there were episodes of "Leverage" and "Burn Notice" that HAD to be watched, can you blame me?) would mean I had to have assumed I even had this reader. Obviously, I was unaware until recently.



So if you've been curious (lord knows why you would be), here's a synapses of all the changes you've been missing:

• I used to hit "snooze" 3 times, exactly. Now, it's more like 7.


• If you looked in my kitchen, you'd think I was already raising a preschooler. We're talking Golden Grahams, Corn Pops, Pop-tarts, Jello pudding, graham crackers...


• Running is... well, something I think upon fondly and miss dearly. Truth is, the elliptical and bike are my friends until I buy something to support my expanding belly.


• When I used to have extreme difficulty completing a task, I'd get really mad and curse and possibly throw something (not breakable, and not at anything that would break). Now, I get really really mad, curse a lot, and probably should not be in the vicinity of a hammer.


• I cannot, for the life of me, decide between a bassinet or a pack n' play, let alone discern the functional difference between either, yet my Babies' R Us registry helper-thingy insists I register both. Which means I better start inviting my ridiculously rich and famous friends to the shower.


• I used to cry for painfully sappy chick flicks. I now cry for action films, comedies, fantasy, daytime TLC shows, and ASPCA commercials (for the love of god WHY do they have to play Sarah McGlachlin??)

I will try to be better updating this thing in the future, dear reader. Notice how that wasn't plural. I'm all about the humble.

Oh, and one more change:

Yeah, she's gonna be a bigg'un.

never ceases to amaze me...

Found in response to a woman's blog about managing injuries while training for a marathon..."Child, STOP Running on the road! I think there are better ways a woman can abuse her body than running... I got shin splints when I ran on pavement... duh... that's what you got too sweetie.If you insist on running, warm up, but I think it's best if a woman does not do long distance running. Your body is saying: "STOP" when you have pain. (Just like the first person who commented.) I garden and direct a choir and do alot of housework watching my 3 or 4 grandchildren. I just turned 50! I do NOT have pain when I do those things, but if I were to start running today, I would get shin splints by tomorrow. It's not that I don't run, actually I do when my gkids & I play soccer in my living room or when I'm out on the lawn building a snowman with them. Or we're playing catch. You see, you need your body for life, not just to impress someone... I am not impressed with people who abuse their bodies in any way- and going to fitness extremes can abuse your body, so if you insist on doing that, then, be sensible and DON"T RUN ON PAVEMENT- it's also really very bad for your female organ parts and replacement of those is way too common.... I still have all my parts and I had 4 children."

Really? 'Replacement' is too common? I've never heard of having anything replaced down there.

I love that this woman thinks that female runners only run to impress other people, and that it's self-destructive. You know what's self-destructive? Playing it safe all the time for fear of getting so much as a splinter. Forgoing higher education if it interferes with procreating. Listening to old wives' tales when deciding what you can or cannot do instead of medical advice backed by decades of research.

Gardening and building snowmen are fun, but they are not enough physical activity to ward off the loss of muscle mass, bone mass, or cardiovascular fitnes. You have to MOVE. And not just in your living room (soccor, in your living room?) Running is not an "extreme" sport. Running 50 marathons in 50 days a-la Dean Karnazes is extreme, but training for A marathon is not.Sorry, stupidity is really getting to me today. End rant.

Which Team?

Today's the day we find out: Team Pink, or Team Blue!

Over the past few days I've finally started to feel a connection with the little one. I have yet to experience any consistent movements, but there are little bumps and flutters that seem to occur at the perfect moment to tell me, "yup, I'm still here!" Not long from now, I'm sure I'll feel it kicking away as I'm trying to sleep, poking me in the ribs, and kicking me in the diaphragm. Then, not long after that, it'll be kicking around as I try to change it's diaper, or as it throws a tantrum because the child doesn't want to do his or her chores.

Yikes, too fast.

As I've shared with some of you, we're also looking at moving this year. Zac's job is moving him to Atlanta so we're looking at houses in the 'burbs [far] outside the perimeter. We want to be close enough to enjoy nights out on the town, but far enough away to circumvent rush hour.

There are so many things that need to take place between now and then, and my head is still spinning about where to start. We've secured a person to help us *finally* finish our kitchen and help clean up / landscape our back yard, but the trick is coordinating schedules to actually get that stuff done. And then, before I know it, we'll be dealing with baby registries, putting together a nursery, switching OB's, and figuring out just where the heck I'm gonna deliver. How do people do it? I have a hard enough time remembering to buy dog food and cat litter, let alone figuring out all the things I'll need to take care of a child! (Fortunately, my mother, much as one might suspect if they knew anything about her, has already purchased 6 months worth of diapers.)

Despite the craziness that will soon ensue, I have to remember to take time to enjoy these significantly more comfortable months of pregnancy. I've got my energy, still have my strength and coordination, and I'm still small enough that getting overheated isn't an issue. I suspect the tone in the blog I post a couple months from now won't be nearly as positive, as I'm sweating and cursing while trying to pack boxes, dealing with the possible return of naussea and food aversions, and, for all I know, coping with hemorroids. Too much info? Wait until you (or your significant other) become pregnant. No topic is off-limits.

Proof of Baby, for Baby

It was in reading Lisa Jhung's "Baby Steps" blog that I decided a few things:

1) I wanted to have a baby.
2) I wanted to be pregnant runner.
3) I, too, could blog about the experience.

Let's note here, however, that I certainly do not plan on writing to as large an audience as Lisa does. Still as the days and weeks progress I know it will be nice to have all of my thoughts and experiences consolidated in one, easy-to-access space, for me to save to a file and pull up some day for our child to read. Not so much as to say, "Look, THIS is what you put me through," (although I could use that when the kid needs to be guilted into doing something) as it will be to show our child that his or her life and presence was evident far before he or she would develop any sense of awareness or memory.

This weekend I complained to several people of the sleep I found myself suddenly losing. As my extreme fatigue and odd food aversions went away (except for greenbeans. I'll eat the fancy herot coverts, but not the thick-cut greenbeans.) I thought I'd be in the clear from the worst of the pregnancy symptoms, momentarily forgetting that I have six more months of this to go. Nope, there's still heartburn, my daily 4:00 AM bathroom trip, and most recently, recurring bouts of Restless Leg Syndrome. Of the three, the latter is definitely the worst. My doctor suspected I had it a while ago and prescribed me ambien (RLS was the least of my worries at the time, however, as I was nannying for crazypsychobitch), which I conveniently can no longer take.

So on Saturday at five in the morning I started researching my options to get my sleep schedule back on track - oddly enough my favorite blogger was having sleep issues as well - and discovered that the answer was so simple that of course I never would have thought of it.
I have to suck it up and deal!

Surprise surprise, it's all part of the package. Much like the frequent urination, exhaustion, the headaches, the weeks of wanting to eat only cold cereal with milk and nothing else, and now the heartburn and RLS... guess what? There's no quick fix. No magic pill or potion. No amount of begging or pleading. But you know what? I wouldn't trade it for the world. Not even for a speed workout or 14-mile run. Not for sleep, comfort, or any amount of feeling "normal" again. This IS normal now.

let's be honest here

There used to be this thing called running. I used to do it. I also used to have lots of energy, or at least not get nearly as tired. It was not uncommon for a day to include 4 hours of classes, a quick cleaning of the house, a 6-7 mile tempo run, and then dinner shift at work. Falling asleep at the end of the day wasn't difficult at all, but if invited out for a little while after work, I'd muster up the energy for that too.

That was then, and this is now.

I'm starting to understand why when you share with other women, particularly those who are already mothers, that you're pregnant, all you hear are the horror storries. We all know there is a precious, miraculous, happy ending to the whole journey, we get that part. But now they want to make sure that future moms-to-be understand it's not all baby dolls and tonka trucks, either. I feel like I could easily become one of those women.

For starters, there's the running. Or the opposite of. I am getting out for 3 mile stints a few times a week, but mustering up the motivation to go out there alone, uncomfortably bloated (belly picks to come very soon) and boobs bouncing painfully about, is difficult to say the least. When the first few steps sound like, "Ow. Ow. Fuck. Ow," it's hard to drag myself out the door day after day for the same joyful experience. Sometimes I can drag the dogs or the husband along for company. Without company, I don't think I'd be doing anything.

The days I don't make it out go somethings like this:

Wake up at 4:30 to pee. Try to go back to sleep but am unable to for at least 2 hours. Spend those 2 hours watching the early early news, then roll back into bed around 6:30 or 7. Sleep like a rock until 11. Eat a breakfast* way too large and far too late to digest it in time to run before work. Take the dogs for a 20-minute walk instead. Watch reruns of Anthony Bourdain and What Not to Wear, eat a substantial lunch**, then go to work. Get through 4 hours of the shift then start begging to be cut. Already starving (again), developing a headache, and my jeans are starting to carve their stitches into my hips. Wind up getting a table that camps out until 9:50 anyway. I'm finally dragging my feet to my car by 10:30. So starving now I might puke just to reingest my own stomach. Get home, devour some food my husband has hopefully prepared or brought home, followed with a bowl of ice cream, and finally collapse in bed by 11:15.

For my friend who doesn't believe I actually eat:
*Breakfast: 1 Panera cinnamon crunch bagel w/ hazelnut cream cheese, 1 cheese danish, and 1/2 a cinnamon roll. (NOT almonds and lemon rind)
**Lunch: A sandwich usually consisting of some meat, cheese, maybe something healthy like a slice of tomato or leaf of lettuce. And chips. Or Cheez-its. Sometimes both. (NOT tree bark and alfalfa sprouts)

Anyway, there was a point to all my bitching. Maybe not. I just hope to get some energy back soon to return to some sense of normalcy.

holiday truths, according to me

1. When a parent is helping you with a task, especially in preparation for the holidays, regardless of how many times you've done it before, they will automatically assume this is the first time you're doing it and therefor must give you constant instruction and direction.


2. The times when you need to be the most productive you will be the most exhausted, and the times when you need the most rest, you will be unable to fall asleep.

3. Our mothers will always fret about what to wear and what to bring to each other's homes, even though they could easily call each other to confirm that the dress is casual and no gifts are necessary.


4. "Holiday Cheer" will not extend to the woman in line at the check-out behaving as though her holiday deadline is more important and imminent than anyone else's and could you PLEASE hurry up and get that price check NOW before she asks to speak to a manager.

5. You're all the more better off if you can keep patient and then crack a joke to make the clerk smile when it's your turn to check out.


6. Each year we will swear up and down to be done with Christmas shopping by November and have cards mailed out by December 15th, but will always fail to do so.

7. No matter where you live or how unlikely the chance, part of you will always wish for a snowflake or two on Christmas Day.


8. The tree may be greener in someone else's living room, but what matters the most is the company with which you get to admire your own.

9. And as much as we may wish that tree were real, we secretly smile to know we won't be pricking our toes on hidden pine needles months after the tree's gone.


10. In the end, after all the fuss, stress, and lack of sleep, we leave the holiday season with a renewed sense of what's important; family, friends, and enjoying some damn good Christmas cookies your mom insisted on helping you bake even though you've made them on your own for the past 3 years.

no say in the matter

Ever have that experience when you see, hear, or feel something so far outside your expectations that it takes several moments for it to register as being real? I had a moment like that today as I ran by a house, elegantly decorated for Christmas with brightly lit lawn ornaments shining over a lawn that looked to be a very imported shade of green, myself decked out in running shorts and a t-shirt on a 68 degree day in December. It just didn't fit.


I often have these moments with my pregnancy as well, especially while running. The same hill I could power through on a 93 degree day in July, now takes the wind out of me less than halfway up, at what feels like less than half my old pace. These are my legs, right? The same calves, the same hamstrings, the same quads. The same hills too. After all, in Greenville it's just not possible to do a flat, easy run, unless you're on a treadmill. The runner is trapped inside a pregnant lady, with this little thing inside stealing her oxygen and blood.

I'm certainly not complaining, far from it. It's just... strange. We're still a month away from hearing the little thief's heartbeat for the first time and until then, it's silently redirecting me towards a different purpose, whether the runner likes it or not. Maybe it's not helping that I'm caught up reading John L. Parker books (Once a Runner and Again to Carthage), but part of me is hoping I can live vicariously through Quentin Cassidy's often poetic journey as a runner, just to hold on to the memory of what it feels like to conquer those demons along with the miles.


For now, I have to be content to be a spectator, to Quenton, to myself, and to the rest of the running world. Nothing is quite like setting an ambitious goal and achieving it, but nothing else is quite like growing a baby inside of you, either. Just as one can tire of watching others pass by in a race, I know I've been tired of seeing other women's blossoming bellies and not being able to know what that feels like.

As I transition from one world to the other, I have to be careful not to get caught up in the in between, where I don't quite fit as a runner, but don't yet feel like a mom. Like Christmas decorations on a too-warm December day, I look in the mirror and think, "Is this right? It just... doesn't... fit." Well, not yet anyway. It will soon, I'm sure.


"And at last he saw: there was no refuge in cowardice, because he was not afraid. There was no alternative, it just had to be done."

Chef

It's been a strange week, and while the reality of the little bean sprouting inside of me continues to sink in, the world continues on in its own weird way without thought or hesitation.

Tuesday I arrived at work and was told just as the rest of the staff was to wait upstairs in the lounge. The big kahuna and management were meeting downstairs in the dining room and I was simply told: It's not good. First thought was, "great, who fucked up and got themselves fired now," second thought was, "oh shit, are they closing the restaurant?" Come to find out, our chef would no longer be working for the company and - long story short - it was her own doing.

What makes this entire thing very weird for me is the fact that I have had a fearful respect of this chef since day one. She makes me afraid to mis-ring anything. She makes me afraid to forget where seat one is. She makes me afraid to forget what the 12th out of 15 ingredients is in our top-selling appetizer. But all of those things I fear are exactly what make me able to do my job.

I'm not a server by nature, you see. I'm not great with the small talk, it's likely that I won't remember a customer's face if I ever cross paths with them outside of work, and truthfully, I just don't care when a couple is going to their umpteenth show at the theater for the month, let alone what that show is. All I can do is tell you what's in what, what you should try, and how you need to order your steak. When it comes to serving I only care about doing two things: earning a decent tip by making sure you get the food you want and making sure that the food I bring you isn't absolute crap. So when I find out that the creator of our menu and person responsible for keeping a kitchen full of rowdy misfits in line is gone, I immediately question my ability to continue to perform those two tasks.

When asked to step up to the task of helping run the kitchen, at least for now, the sous chef seemed reluctant. For the sake of my own confidence in the restaurant and the kitchen, I practically begged her to consider that she could be capable, even if she doesn't feel it right now. I pretty much told her that while it was for selfish reasons only that I wanted her there, I summed up the reasons why I'm not a server, but working in this particular restaurant reassures me that when I completely drop the ball, the people will at least still be thrilled with what they're eating and I might not lose my entire tip. Bringing the focus back to her, I simply said, "you rock, and we need you."

The restaurant continues on for now and I'll continue serving there until either I accumulate too many hours with school and my - eventual - job at the gym, or my belly gets too big and it starts knocking drinks on my customers.

just give me Bravo and a pan of brownies

Prior to this week, if you had asked me about my running or workout plans throughout this pregnancy, I would have enthusiastically told you about how I planned to sticking to a solid routine, maintaining my good cardiovascular fitness, and that in all ways I wouldn't let being pregnant interfere with my active lifestyle.

Fast forward to today, me reclining in the living room after having gorged on chick-fil-a, watching Bravo with a cloud of shame and guilt hanging dreadfully close to my head.

What I had heard and read about, but could not have been prepared for, was this overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that no amount of sleep or time wasted on facebook can erase. Tuesday I went to work with eyes watering and swelling from tiredness, and left bawling because I worked through it for a whopping $45. I just wanted to scream at every table, "Don't you know how TIRED I am?! Don't you know I have to get up at six-thirty?!? Don't you know that I can't feed a BABY on $45 fucking dollars a night?!?!"

It was at this point that I figured I must be experiencing some of those "real" symptoms that I had eluded so far. Because suddenly the only remedy to my emotional state seemed to be to eat brownies in a bed full of the biggest, fluffiest pillows that release a poof of lavender-scented ambien dust to lull me into the longest slumber imaginable (brownies still in hand).

I also realized that for right now, this would mean that running and workout out aren't going to play a major roll in my pregnancy until I can stand being on my feet again for more than 20 minutes. Yesterday was awful. Lifting weights made me want to cry (again). Today was a bit better as I was able to get through a lower body workout without much stress or strain. I know I need to run today, which I'll manage one way or another, but it'll be slow.

Already I can't wait for what I now refer to as, "the golden period," that magical 2nd trimester when I won't be tired all the time, the thought of hummus won't make me gag, and I may even start showing enough to generate some better tips.