"Our age is in search of an authentic vision of the human person. Are we just animals? Are we intelligent animals? Or are we children of God? Are we the result of evolution, a big bang, the loving hand of a creator or some combination of these? Are we here to grasp as much pleasure as possible in our brief time or is there a higher calling and purpose in our lives? The way we live, love, work, vote and participate in a society is a direct result of the vision of the human person that we subscribe to.
Here in America, we spent more than thirty billion dollars last year on diet products. That is more than we spend on books, and more than the gross domestic product (GDP)of at least fifty nations in the world. Now it would seem to me that the only diet most of us need is a little bit of discipline. But we don't want any discipline. We want someone to get on the informercial and tell us that if we take this little pill twice a day, every day, we can eat whatever we want, whenever we want. We want someone to tell us, "You can be healthy and happy without discipline."
The truth is, you cannot be healthy and happy without discipline. In fact, if you want to measure the level of happiness in your life, just measure the lever of discipline in your life. You will never have more happiness than you have discipline. The two are directly related to one another." Matthew Kelly, Rediscover Catholicism.
No wonder marathoners and distance runners are the happiest people on the planet!
All kidding aside, I took this quote from the mentioned book. If you attend Catholic mass anywhere in Cincinnati and did so on Christmas Eve or Christmas, you received this book from the archbishop. I was skipping through sections on the book and came to a section on fasting. This was where I found the quote. And although I am in no way a person who likes to fast, I got his point and I got why from a secular standpoint, it is important (lots more in the book on this subject...). But what caught my eye was what was being said. I told my mom on Christmas that reading that chapter articulated almost every point of why I want to do a 100 mile ultra marathon. It probably articulated the thoughts and feelings of many marathoners, Ironman triathletes and any other group of people that push themselves to extremes.
"Your body has a voice, and it talks to you constantly. You wake up, and the body cries out, "feed me," so you eat. A couple of hours later the body cries out, "I'm thirsty," so you drink. Later the body cries out, "I'm tired," so you rest. Again the body cries out, "feed me," and you do. WHEN IT'S TIME TO EXERCISE YOUR BODY CRIES OUT, "I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT," so you don't. And at the end of the day, the body calls out, "I'm ready for bed," so you sleep. Whether we are aware of it or not, our bod is ordering us around most of the day. The body is always crying out, feed me, sleep me, please me, nourish me, wash me, relieve me, water me...
But where is this voice leading us? In a modern climate, most people's bodies are winning the battle for dominance between body and soul. In a sense, the body is like money-- a great servant, but a horrible master."
For much of my life, I have let the voice of my body dictate. I don't deny myself much at all. Often times, I feel entitled to just lay around and do nothing and have plenty of justification why I am entitled. I know exactly why my house is sometimes a mess... and it isn't due to the age old excuse of lack of time, either. We constantly get messages from society and from others to just "give yourself a break. Who cares if you don't get some of the things you'd planned on doing done?" Well I wouldn't care if I truly had just cause not to do some of these things. But all too often the reason is "I don't feel like it."
I think entering the world of ultra distances is changing that for me in many respects. First of all, there are MANY times during a long training run that you have to mentally (and sometimes verbally), tell your body's multiple complaints to STFU (really, need I spell it out?)! You become very good at ignoring your body's ever constant commands. And as long as there is no legitimate injury, or health concern going on, each incident changes you just a little. Practice quieting that voice for a few years, training cycle after training cycle, and it changes you a lot.
I didn't want to run trails yesterday morning. And a million things told me it wasn't a good idea. The stuff hitting the window sounded like ice, not snow. The wind sounded miserable and the park gates were closed. But experience has shown me time and time again, these are sometimes the greatest moments in training. So I instructed John to park at the junior high school and we'd run to the park trails. Greg and Kim were joining us and God love them, they were game. Kim had thousands of calories to burn and Greg, well he will run just about anytime, anyplace.
By the time we got to the trails, we were good and warmed up. The wind was not a big issue and the trails were a bit slushy, but not icy. By the final mile, it was snowing heavily and it was so beautiful. There we were, the day after Christmas, in the woods, doing what we love in the most glorious weather I can imagine myself running it. It was Heaven.
So often, these are the enormous rewards of discipline. Time and time again, I have to silence the voice of my body that longs for ease and comfort. When I do, my heart and soul are filled with immeasurable happiness. This is true in all aspects of my life... helping others when it's inconvenient, looking at my husband and sincerely apologizing even when it's hard, restraining myself when my kids have absolutely shredded my last nerve and making time for silent prayer every day, especially the busiest of days.
So Matthew Kelly is correct: You can never have more happiness than you have discipline. The two are directly related to one another.
Wishing you the happiest of New Years!
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Changes
'Tis the season to begin thinking of the proverbial New Year's resolution. Most of us make them. We go full force with the intent to keep them and change our lives for the better instantly, only for the desire to fade, the enthusiasm and motivation flicker and ultimately, the flame die. This has happened to me time and time again. I keep trying to come up with a resolution that I will like so that I can stick with it... such as, eating more ice cream. Why can't that be my resolution with no ill effects?
For me, making changes for the better requires 3 things: resolve, patience and time. Many of us have the resolve to do better in certain areas of our lives, but we lack the patience to give it the time needed. Hence the reason many enthusiastic newbie runners end up with injuries and the feeling that running is somehow "bad" for them. When we are excited, we jump head first (and full force) into it. With running, you CANNOT DO THAT. Your body is not ready for speed and volume, even if your mind is. So when a few weeks in we find ourselves with sore everything, we decide it isn't for us. Not only that, we've burnt ourselves out trying to run every single day, never allowing ourselves a break for fear of breaking some magical cycle.
So if running is on your agenda for 2013, let me give you a small piece of experiential advice.... take it slow, be humble, start with 3 days a week and increase gradually. But most of all, BE CONSISTENT!!! That is your biggest factor for success.
Before Thanksgiving, I wrote about our challenges with Jack and his performance in both school and at home. I promised myself that before we made the decision to medicate him for ADHD (inattentive type), I would try whatever I could to manage him unmedicated. If after a trial period, it was obvious he could not function successfully in school without meds, then we would begin the search for the right medication. Translation... I would not let a stubborn mindset about medication keep my son from reaching his academic and social potential. ADHD is a biochemical issue and some kids simply need it. But first I wanted to be CERTAIN he needed it. I made reference to some dietary changes that we were making that were very difficult. After extensive reading and searching, we decided to remove gluten from his diet. There have been many documented successes with elimination diets in regard to managing ADHD without medication. We have also removed the majority of processed foods from his diet (and now subsequently ours), as much research has pointed to additives and preservatives as "triggers" for these kids. We've also added an omega-3 supplement and a children's probiotic, both of which are recommended for kids like Jack. We were able to pinpoint that large amounts of sugar trigger meltdowns and complete lack of attention at home, so that too, has been lessened considerably.
Yes, we are becoming that ridiculous family that I used to make fun of. I never believed or put much stock in what I would call "granolas". And although I feel my family's diet is way off from that definition, it's slowly inching that way. I have yet to plant my own organic vegetable garden and I do not have cattle in my back yard that I am grass feeding (but I have moved toward grass fed beef...). But we also live in a busy and real household with lots going on, so yes, sometimes, LaRosas is on the menu for dinner. See? Balance :)
I have to credit my sister, Maria, and her influence on our family's diet. Maria made some extreme changes in her daughter, Ellie's diet. Ellie suffered from a long list of vague symptoms that both puzzled and made my sister crazy trying to figure out if her issues were really physical or psychological. Being a single mom with a full time job, Maria's diet was to say the least, sub par. She will tell you that herself. With a heavy emphasis on processed and fast foods, Maria did what was quick and easy to suit her busy life. But Ellie's constant fatigue, malaise, mood swings, complaints, stomach aches and headaches sent Maria on a quest for answers. I give her worlds of credit for not buying the "Irritible bowel" or other diagnosis the pediatricians were guessing. Finally out of desperation, she put Ellie on a dramatic elimination diet. It was like a light switch. Had I not seen the changes with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. My once very stoic niece, who adorable as she was, was never happy at any age, has blossomed into this smily, happy, feeling good little girl. She is delightful! Maria has since been able to reintroduce some of the things she pulled out, knowing now her exact triggers.... corn and soy, which are seemingly in EVERYTHING (aka corn syrup and soy lecithin) and in which over 90% that is put into food is in the "GMO" (or Genetically Modified) category. Ellie cannot eat any animal product in which the animal is grain fed. It must be from a grass fed source, since corn is such an issue. Upon Maria's further research, which she has done exhaustively and much more extensively than me, she has learned about what exactly our food sources contain and is pretty certain the FDA is approving poisons in our food. I am not quite there as I have not done any scientific research on any of this. But it's hard to ignore the ever increasing incidence of allergies and ADHD in kids as well as cancers that are affecting people at an alarmingly high rate these days. From a strictly statistical standpoint, the evidence is glaring what is in our food is a culprit. Again, I say this with caution as I have no proof, rather simply cause to think so. Is a fresh ear of corn on the cob bad? Of course not! But the crap they put into the corn they use in processing probably is. So Needless to say, thanks to my sister, I've bitten on this one. And I'm glad I have as it seems to be helping Jack too.
In addition to diet, Jack now has a strict bedtime of 8:45. The goal is to have him asleep by 9 pm every night. This requires either John or I to physically lay in his bed until he nods off. We were finding that although he had a decent bedtime, he was distracting himself with various activities and staying awake until God knows when. Everyone knows I go to bed early. At times, something would wake me up at 10:30 or 11:00 and Jack's light would still be on and he'd be drawing or reading or making a mess in his room. The truth is, I cannot tell you exactly how much sleep he was getting each night. I only know he was difficult to wake each morning and at least 3 nights a week, he would wet the bed (make fun of him for this and you'll deal with mama bear). The pediatrician told us this is normal with some kids his age still (especially boys), but I have also learned it also goes hand in hand with ADHD.
We are now about 5-6 solid weeks into all these changes and the results are ASTOUNDING! In two weeks, with more sleep per night (about 10-10.5 hours), Jack has not wet the bed. His math teacher has texted me at various times saying he is having some "amazing" days. Homework is taking much less time, he's more obedient and attentive at home.
One could argue it's the sleep. But if you think we are going to change anything right now, think again. What puzzles me is that he is sleeping LONGER and having no bed wetting incidents. When he was sleeping less, they were what I would consider frequent for a 10 year old. That physical change is enough to keep me doing everything the same and leads me to believe that diet "could" be a contributing factor when it comes to this. Why else would more sleep cause fewer accidents?
Jack is still Jack. He is quirky and a bit immature for his age. But that is what makes him completely lovable to me. I didn't want his personality to change, I just wanted him to be able to reach his potential. I feel like I have the best of both worlds...the real Jack who is doing very well right now.
It has been really hard to keep up the diet. I get complaints daily from Emma, my little chocoholic, that there is "nothing" to eat in the house. What she means is that there is nothing to eat that she would like... junk. Organic dairy and produce is expensive and with growing kids, I am constantly at the grocery store. Often times I find myself thinking "Just forget it. I'm sure what we used to eat is just fine...". And maybe it is, but I wholeheartedly put a lot of stock in a "clean" diet now more than I ever did as evidenced by Jack's progress and as I also mentioned, my niece.
Our success has also been in Jack's unbelievable ability to stick to it. Perhaps he physically feels better or is noticing that focus comes a bit more easily than it used to. I'm not really sure. The first two weeks were tough. He was agreeable, but was having a tough time and would often say "I HATE this diet..." He was so addicted to crackers, pretzels and anything flour based that I am sure he was experiencing withdrawal. I worried that our days with it would be numbered as I realized how very little control I have over my kids and what they eat at school if they are trading snacks or being given friends' snacks (I can assure you, none of his friends likely want his lunch). But Jack is very diligent. He finally got to buy on soft taco day, with me forgetting that the soft shell tacos were flour tortillas, not corn (which he can have). When he got home, he said "mom, the shells weren't gluten free so I just ate the inside." Victory!
My point... change is HARD. Especially when it is not immediate. I don't doubt there will continue to be many days where I find myself questioning the validity of an extreme wellness diet. But put my child's well-being in the mix and give me positive results and it's enough to keep me keeping on.
Here's hoping all of your resolutions for 2013 bring about the changes you most desire.
Merry Christmas!
For me, making changes for the better requires 3 things: resolve, patience and time. Many of us have the resolve to do better in certain areas of our lives, but we lack the patience to give it the time needed. Hence the reason many enthusiastic newbie runners end up with injuries and the feeling that running is somehow "bad" for them. When we are excited, we jump head first (and full force) into it. With running, you CANNOT DO THAT. Your body is not ready for speed and volume, even if your mind is. So when a few weeks in we find ourselves with sore everything, we decide it isn't for us. Not only that, we've burnt ourselves out trying to run every single day, never allowing ourselves a break for fear of breaking some magical cycle.
So if running is on your agenda for 2013, let me give you a small piece of experiential advice.... take it slow, be humble, start with 3 days a week and increase gradually. But most of all, BE CONSISTENT!!! That is your biggest factor for success.
Before Thanksgiving, I wrote about our challenges with Jack and his performance in both school and at home. I promised myself that before we made the decision to medicate him for ADHD (inattentive type), I would try whatever I could to manage him unmedicated. If after a trial period, it was obvious he could not function successfully in school without meds, then we would begin the search for the right medication. Translation... I would not let a stubborn mindset about medication keep my son from reaching his academic and social potential. ADHD is a biochemical issue and some kids simply need it. But first I wanted to be CERTAIN he needed it. I made reference to some dietary changes that we were making that were very difficult. After extensive reading and searching, we decided to remove gluten from his diet. There have been many documented successes with elimination diets in regard to managing ADHD without medication. We have also removed the majority of processed foods from his diet (and now subsequently ours), as much research has pointed to additives and preservatives as "triggers" for these kids. We've also added an omega-3 supplement and a children's probiotic, both of which are recommended for kids like Jack. We were able to pinpoint that large amounts of sugar trigger meltdowns and complete lack of attention at home, so that too, has been lessened considerably.
Yes, we are becoming that ridiculous family that I used to make fun of. I never believed or put much stock in what I would call "granolas". And although I feel my family's diet is way off from that definition, it's slowly inching that way. I have yet to plant my own organic vegetable garden and I do not have cattle in my back yard that I am grass feeding (but I have moved toward grass fed beef...). But we also live in a busy and real household with lots going on, so yes, sometimes, LaRosas is on the menu for dinner. See? Balance :)
I have to credit my sister, Maria, and her influence on our family's diet. Maria made some extreme changes in her daughter, Ellie's diet. Ellie suffered from a long list of vague symptoms that both puzzled and made my sister crazy trying to figure out if her issues were really physical or psychological. Being a single mom with a full time job, Maria's diet was to say the least, sub par. She will tell you that herself. With a heavy emphasis on processed and fast foods, Maria did what was quick and easy to suit her busy life. But Ellie's constant fatigue, malaise, mood swings, complaints, stomach aches and headaches sent Maria on a quest for answers. I give her worlds of credit for not buying the "Irritible bowel" or other diagnosis the pediatricians were guessing. Finally out of desperation, she put Ellie on a dramatic elimination diet. It was like a light switch. Had I not seen the changes with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. My once very stoic niece, who adorable as she was, was never happy at any age, has blossomed into this smily, happy, feeling good little girl. She is delightful! Maria has since been able to reintroduce some of the things she pulled out, knowing now her exact triggers.... corn and soy, which are seemingly in EVERYTHING (aka corn syrup and soy lecithin) and in which over 90% that is put into food is in the "GMO" (or Genetically Modified) category. Ellie cannot eat any animal product in which the animal is grain fed. It must be from a grass fed source, since corn is such an issue. Upon Maria's further research, which she has done exhaustively and much more extensively than me, she has learned about what exactly our food sources contain and is pretty certain the FDA is approving poisons in our food. I am not quite there as I have not done any scientific research on any of this. But it's hard to ignore the ever increasing incidence of allergies and ADHD in kids as well as cancers that are affecting people at an alarmingly high rate these days. From a strictly statistical standpoint, the evidence is glaring what is in our food is a culprit. Again, I say this with caution as I have no proof, rather simply cause to think so. Is a fresh ear of corn on the cob bad? Of course not! But the crap they put into the corn they use in processing probably is. So Needless to say, thanks to my sister, I've bitten on this one. And I'm glad I have as it seems to be helping Jack too.
In addition to diet, Jack now has a strict bedtime of 8:45. The goal is to have him asleep by 9 pm every night. This requires either John or I to physically lay in his bed until he nods off. We were finding that although he had a decent bedtime, he was distracting himself with various activities and staying awake until God knows when. Everyone knows I go to bed early. At times, something would wake me up at 10:30 or 11:00 and Jack's light would still be on and he'd be drawing or reading or making a mess in his room. The truth is, I cannot tell you exactly how much sleep he was getting each night. I only know he was difficult to wake each morning and at least 3 nights a week, he would wet the bed (make fun of him for this and you'll deal with mama bear). The pediatrician told us this is normal with some kids his age still (especially boys), but I have also learned it also goes hand in hand with ADHD.
We are now about 5-6 solid weeks into all these changes and the results are ASTOUNDING! In two weeks, with more sleep per night (about 10-10.5 hours), Jack has not wet the bed. His math teacher has texted me at various times saying he is having some "amazing" days. Homework is taking much less time, he's more obedient and attentive at home.
One could argue it's the sleep. But if you think we are going to change anything right now, think again. What puzzles me is that he is sleeping LONGER and having no bed wetting incidents. When he was sleeping less, they were what I would consider frequent for a 10 year old. That physical change is enough to keep me doing everything the same and leads me to believe that diet "could" be a contributing factor when it comes to this. Why else would more sleep cause fewer accidents?
Jack is still Jack. He is quirky and a bit immature for his age. But that is what makes him completely lovable to me. I didn't want his personality to change, I just wanted him to be able to reach his potential. I feel like I have the best of both worlds...the real Jack who is doing very well right now.
It has been really hard to keep up the diet. I get complaints daily from Emma, my little chocoholic, that there is "nothing" to eat in the house. What she means is that there is nothing to eat that she would like... junk. Organic dairy and produce is expensive and with growing kids, I am constantly at the grocery store. Often times I find myself thinking "Just forget it. I'm sure what we used to eat is just fine...". And maybe it is, but I wholeheartedly put a lot of stock in a "clean" diet now more than I ever did as evidenced by Jack's progress and as I also mentioned, my niece.
Our success has also been in Jack's unbelievable ability to stick to it. Perhaps he physically feels better or is noticing that focus comes a bit more easily than it used to. I'm not really sure. The first two weeks were tough. He was agreeable, but was having a tough time and would often say "I HATE this diet..." He was so addicted to crackers, pretzels and anything flour based that I am sure he was experiencing withdrawal. I worried that our days with it would be numbered as I realized how very little control I have over my kids and what they eat at school if they are trading snacks or being given friends' snacks (I can assure you, none of his friends likely want his lunch). But Jack is very diligent. He finally got to buy on soft taco day, with me forgetting that the soft shell tacos were flour tortillas, not corn (which he can have). When he got home, he said "mom, the shells weren't gluten free so I just ate the inside." Victory!
My point... change is HARD. Especially when it is not immediate. I don't doubt there will continue to be many days where I find myself questioning the validity of an extreme wellness diet. But put my child's well-being in the mix and give me positive results and it's enough to keep me keeping on.
Here's hoping all of your resolutions for 2013 bring about the changes you most desire.
Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 7, 2012
And So it Begins...
"I certify that I am adequately trained, physically fit, and capable of participating in this 100 mile ultra-endurance event over and off roads, trails, and extremely rugged terrain and I recognize the significant risks involved, such as exhaustion, physical injury, heat stroke, dehydration, and vehicle and pedestrian traffic. In consideration of allowing my participation in the Burning River 100, I hereby waive and release all claims and liabilities arising directly or indirectly out of, or relating to my participation in that event, and I further agree to indemnify and hold harmless Western Reserve Trail Running, Inc., Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Cleveland Metroparks, and Metroparks Serving Summit County, and their respective directors, trustees, officers, affiliates, agents, contractors, representatives, and volunteers from all losses, costs, liability, damages, and claims arising from my participation....."
Uh, YES.... wait, MAYBE.... oh, jeez, I don't know. Where is the "I think so" box. Or even better the "I sure as hell hope so" box for me to check.
I was going to wait to register until January 1st. But since I couldn't stand "not training" any longer, I officially jump started 100 mile training this week (which conveniently started with a rest day... going well, don't you think?) Give me credit, though. Two months is a long time to be resting. Since the MCM on October 27th, I have been running very sporadically. Mostly 3 days a week and not very far, either. My longest run was 10 miles (this past weekend). So that was a good 5 weeks of downtime and about as much as I could handle. I realize I SAY a lot of things I don't really mean. And saying I was going to take it easy for two months turned out to be one of them.
So this is my adventure/goal for 2013. To COMPLETE the 100 mile distance in the Burning River 100 on July 27/28th. You know it's a long-ass race when the race date has 2 days listed!
The looks one gets when telling people about this are not of admiration like they are when telling people you are running a marathon. It's funny, the response is usually "...all in one day? Why? That sounds horrible and unsafe." And to those people's credit, they are right. I remember being with Jack during his 2nd Burning River (yes, the one I said I would NEVER, EVER do... please refer to the above sentence about me saying things I don't mean). Anyway, there were horrible and scary moments. There were times I felt it was unsafe for him to go on. I was miserable and was completing less than 1/3 the distance. But that wasn't my race and it wasn't about me so I couldn't possibly understand that Jack's mindset was totally different than mine. He was committed and ready to complete it and I was not. He spent a crazy amount of time preparing the psychological aspect needed to succeed. I had not. And I believe that without question, he KNEW his life was never in danger, even though I didn't. He felt terrible and was exhausted, but that is to be expected when doing an event like this. And because he pushed past all of it, he realized just how much the human body can endure. This is something so few people are willing to go find out. They aren't wrong or necessarily missing out for not wanting to, but the point is that we always have perceived limits and then we have actual limits. The difference between the two is ENORMOUS. I remember the surprise of my pregnancy with baby number 3, Jack. In my own perception, there was NO WAY I could handle another baby at that point in my life. With two small children, a husband who was a full-time student, living out of town, and a full time job, it simply seemed like an impossible feat. But as always, God knew I could handle it and he had a purpose for this tiny person. And gee, didn't it all work out so perfectly? Look where we are now? I can't imagine my life without this adorable, tender hearted, loving child. Perceived limits vs. actual limits... (Dear God, really... I think I've reached my actual limit on this one. Kindly requesting not to be proven wrong :)
Do I think God is telling me to run 100 miles? No way. Does He know I'm going to try anyway? Yes, He does. Does He know the intent I have in doing so and what I hope to make of it? Yes, He does. Does He know if I can do it? Yes, He does. Even if I don't know it. He already knows the outcome... whether I will complete it or not. But the outcome doesn't matter so much as the attempt in something like this and how I go forward with training and preparation.
I have a fund raising goal for this race (I really need to stop referring to this as a "race". That implies speed will be involved). In a few short weeks, more information about that will be put out, both here and on Facebook. My goal is to raise money for a select few organizations by obtaining pledges per mile. No money will go through me. All expenses incurred ... registration, travel, crew... will come out of my pocket and not be reimbursed by the pledges. Stayed tuned....
I am taking a risk and searching to bypass my perceived limits, but not quite reach my actual limit (I assume that is bad thing). I already know I can go 50 miles. I am certain I can also go 100. But don't be fooled, I am scared out of my wits to attempt it. I hope that the reminder of who/what charities will benefit from it serves to keep me strong and motivated during my training.
A few prayers from y'all would be nice too!
Sidenote: I got a lot of very nice e-mails from people who read about Sergio in my last post. Thank you for your prayers, especially for those who don't know him. Sergio's follow up appointment with his pediatrician revealed a grade 3 concussion. Concussions are labeled grade 1-4, depending on severity. The doctor was perplexed as his recovery is not matching the severity of what happened. Sergio is acting and recovering like a grade 1. Not that any one of us present needed it, but it is further proof of God's glaring presence in that gym as well as the power of prayer. Deb says that she is certain that when you call in angels for help, they come. Sergio had quite a few that night. Thank you for the prayers.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Play On
There are times in races or on runs when you must soldier on, despite what obstacles decide to pop up. Of course, everyone knows that we really have a choice of whether to keep going or shut it down, but sometimes we don't allow ourselves choices and we just continue. These reasons vary and are often times quite personal. Sometimes it's to prove to ourselves we can. Sometimes it's to prove to others that we can. And then sometimes it's to honor someone who we know would want us to go on... to keep trying, keep pushing and finish what was started. So often the ability to push aside the challenges and keep going are the result of years of life experience and practice. The trials of failure and the victories of winning serve to propel us forward until we are finished.
But there is nothing quite like witnessing the tough challenging of continuing on from a group of 13/14 year old boys, or as I like to call them, "man-children".
Will had his first regular season basketball game yesterday. We pulled into the parking lot simultaneously with my friend Deb and her family. Her son, Sergio, is a friend and teammate of Will's.
As Deb and I exchanged hellos, the boys walked ahead together and into the gym. Deb and I filed onto the bleachers and settled in to watch the end of a game already in progress. Somehow the conversation came to the startling fact that our boys were getting ready for high school. We talked about how some of our boys have been together since preschool. This was where Will met Sergio and I met Deb. We laughed as I recalled Will's 5th birthday party. As Deb dropped Sergio off, he asked his mom to write down their phone number in case he needed to call her. About midway through the party, Serg asked to use my phone. He took the crumpled up paper from his pocket and dialed the number. "Hi mom! What are you guys up to? Good... yes it's fun. I just called to say hi. Ok... I love you too. Bye." His little self could barely reach the phone dock on the wall as he tip-toed to hang up. He then proceeded to join the boys again as if all was well. I will never forget that. This small boy who needed his mom's voice of reassurance. Once he heard it, the world was right. We also laughed as Sergio then proceeded to invite all the boys to his house for a sleepover. He did that often, without first consulting with Deb. One time Sergio called Will and asked if he could spend the night. Knowing Sergio's habit of concocting grand parties without his mother's knowledge, I asked to speak to Deb. Sure enough, when Deb got on the phone, she knew nothing of the invitation and then said "That could explain why he's hiding under the table right now..."
When the game in progress was over, we moved seats to the "home" side and settled in. All the boys playing had known each other at least since kindergarten. I noticed the difference a year makes in watching the intensity of the playing. They all looked so BIG and were so physical. The game was intense and exciting, with our boys trailing by a hair, then getting ahead by a hair. Sometime during the third quarter, Will and Sergio collided while going for a rebound. In a split second both boys were on the ground. I saw the boy's coach jump up and run and as I looked over, I saw Sergio in the midst of a full-blown seizure.
Instinctively I raced over. Deb was already at his side. Sergio was having a grand mal seizure after the back of his head slammed to the gym floor. His arms were straight ahead and fists were closed tight and posturing. As I looked at his faced I noticed the blue color getting more apparent. Sergio was not breathing. His eyes were wide and fixed and his body was jerking wildly. Deb kept him on his left side as I began to recall the steps of CPR in my head. Would his mother be able to do this? Deb is an advanced practice nurse and was more than capable, but to her own boy? I kneeled down... frantic in my head, calm on the outside. In a frenzy of activity, I looked up and saw the boys... his friends... watching in horror as their friend lay on the ground. All I could do in the moment was say "God, please take over. Please help him." Nothing else came to mind. In an instant I feared that Deb and Steve were watching their son's life as they knew it, slip away. I feared that even with survival, a blow to the head that was hard enough to cause this seizure, was going to have some serious and life changing effects on his brain.
Slowly, Sergio's body began to relax. His grunts turned to deep breaths and the color began to return. With the blink of his eyes, he looked around and looked a bit perplexed. Deb continued to calmly talk to him and tell him he was ok. "Do you know what day it is?" In very slurred manner, Sergio replied, "Sunday." Praise God! "Do you know where you are?" "Basketball." Again, a wave of relief like none other washed over me (can't even imagine what that was like for Deb). Little by little, Sergio's speech became more coherent. "I hit my head... Jeezo Pete!" It was clear that he knew exactly who he was, where he was and what he had been doing. I heard the distant sound of siren's approaching. Deb kept him laying there and I noticed his right arm, still straight ahead and his fist clenched. I had yet to see him move (although she kept him still, I wasn't really sure he could move yet). When the paramedics arrived, they questioned him and his mother. I saw them check his head and then run their fingers down the back of his spine. Not having seen him move yet and noticing the position of his fist and arm, I held my breath, fearful of what was going to be discovered. "Hey buddy, can you sit up?" The EMT took his top arm and slowly Sergio began to move it. He then pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked up and began answering questions appropriately.
What I did not know was that while Sergio's body lay in a fit on the floor, one of the mom's had huddled his frightened teammates together. Some of them were crying. She led them in prayer. Now I don't know how often God gets the undivided attention of some very sincere, helpless, panic stricken eighth grade boys. But I can't help but think that God's infinite compassion and love for these young men who were turning to him had much to do with Sergio's amazing turnabout. I compare it to parents who love all of their children, fiercely and equally. But there is something about that little one who can ask for things unlike the bigger ones. Something happens that softens you so much when the tiniest voice in the family cries out in need or makes a request.
As Sergio was loaded on the stretcher and strapped in, they sat him up. I was certain the game was going to be called after that kind of traumatic event. But Sergio requested the game continue. And so after he was safely in the ambulance, the boys played on.
No doubt they were shaken. But those boys jumped back in the game and did as their buddy had requested. They finished it.
Sergio was taken to Children's Hospital, where he was evaluated and had a CAT scan. The scan was normal... no fracture in the skull and a bad concussion. And so with precautions, they sent him home.
I continue to witness God's presence and power everywhere. I am reminded how fragile this life is and how it can change in a split second. I am humbled beyond words that He was right with Sergio, his family and his friends and took complete control of a situation that could have gone so much differently. I believe these boys witnessed it also and for that, I am so thankful.
But there is nothing quite like witnessing the tough challenging of continuing on from a group of 13/14 year old boys, or as I like to call them, "man-children".
Will had his first regular season basketball game yesterday. We pulled into the parking lot simultaneously with my friend Deb and her family. Her son, Sergio, is a friend and teammate of Will's.
As Deb and I exchanged hellos, the boys walked ahead together and into the gym. Deb and I filed onto the bleachers and settled in to watch the end of a game already in progress. Somehow the conversation came to the startling fact that our boys were getting ready for high school. We talked about how some of our boys have been together since preschool. This was where Will met Sergio and I met Deb. We laughed as I recalled Will's 5th birthday party. As Deb dropped Sergio off, he asked his mom to write down their phone number in case he needed to call her. About midway through the party, Serg asked to use my phone. He took the crumpled up paper from his pocket and dialed the number. "Hi mom! What are you guys up to? Good... yes it's fun. I just called to say hi. Ok... I love you too. Bye." His little self could barely reach the phone dock on the wall as he tip-toed to hang up. He then proceeded to join the boys again as if all was well. I will never forget that. This small boy who needed his mom's voice of reassurance. Once he heard it, the world was right. We also laughed as Sergio then proceeded to invite all the boys to his house for a sleepover. He did that often, without first consulting with Deb. One time Sergio called Will and asked if he could spend the night. Knowing Sergio's habit of concocting grand parties without his mother's knowledge, I asked to speak to Deb. Sure enough, when Deb got on the phone, she knew nothing of the invitation and then said "That could explain why he's hiding under the table right now..."
When the game in progress was over, we moved seats to the "home" side and settled in. All the boys playing had known each other at least since kindergarten. I noticed the difference a year makes in watching the intensity of the playing. They all looked so BIG and were so physical. The game was intense and exciting, with our boys trailing by a hair, then getting ahead by a hair. Sometime during the third quarter, Will and Sergio collided while going for a rebound. In a split second both boys were on the ground. I saw the boy's coach jump up and run and as I looked over, I saw Sergio in the midst of a full-blown seizure.
Instinctively I raced over. Deb was already at his side. Sergio was having a grand mal seizure after the back of his head slammed to the gym floor. His arms were straight ahead and fists were closed tight and posturing. As I looked at his faced I noticed the blue color getting more apparent. Sergio was not breathing. His eyes were wide and fixed and his body was jerking wildly. Deb kept him on his left side as I began to recall the steps of CPR in my head. Would his mother be able to do this? Deb is an advanced practice nurse and was more than capable, but to her own boy? I kneeled down... frantic in my head, calm on the outside. In a frenzy of activity, I looked up and saw the boys... his friends... watching in horror as their friend lay on the ground. All I could do in the moment was say "God, please take over. Please help him." Nothing else came to mind. In an instant I feared that Deb and Steve were watching their son's life as they knew it, slip away. I feared that even with survival, a blow to the head that was hard enough to cause this seizure, was going to have some serious and life changing effects on his brain.
Slowly, Sergio's body began to relax. His grunts turned to deep breaths and the color began to return. With the blink of his eyes, he looked around and looked a bit perplexed. Deb continued to calmly talk to him and tell him he was ok. "Do you know what day it is?" In very slurred manner, Sergio replied, "Sunday." Praise God! "Do you know where you are?" "Basketball." Again, a wave of relief like none other washed over me (can't even imagine what that was like for Deb). Little by little, Sergio's speech became more coherent. "I hit my head... Jeezo Pete!" It was clear that he knew exactly who he was, where he was and what he had been doing. I heard the distant sound of siren's approaching. Deb kept him laying there and I noticed his right arm, still straight ahead and his fist clenched. I had yet to see him move (although she kept him still, I wasn't really sure he could move yet). When the paramedics arrived, they questioned him and his mother. I saw them check his head and then run their fingers down the back of his spine. Not having seen him move yet and noticing the position of his fist and arm, I held my breath, fearful of what was going to be discovered. "Hey buddy, can you sit up?" The EMT took his top arm and slowly Sergio began to move it. He then pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked up and began answering questions appropriately.
What I did not know was that while Sergio's body lay in a fit on the floor, one of the mom's had huddled his frightened teammates together. Some of them were crying. She led them in prayer. Now I don't know how often God gets the undivided attention of some very sincere, helpless, panic stricken eighth grade boys. But I can't help but think that God's infinite compassion and love for these young men who were turning to him had much to do with Sergio's amazing turnabout. I compare it to parents who love all of their children, fiercely and equally. But there is something about that little one who can ask for things unlike the bigger ones. Something happens that softens you so much when the tiniest voice in the family cries out in need or makes a request.
As Sergio was loaded on the stretcher and strapped in, they sat him up. I was certain the game was going to be called after that kind of traumatic event. But Sergio requested the game continue. And so after he was safely in the ambulance, the boys played on.
No doubt they were shaken. But those boys jumped back in the game and did as their buddy had requested. They finished it.
Sergio was taken to Children's Hospital, where he was evaluated and had a CAT scan. The scan was normal... no fracture in the skull and a bad concussion. And so with precautions, they sent him home.
I continue to witness God's presence and power everywhere. I am reminded how fragile this life is and how it can change in a split second. I am humbled beyond words that He was right with Sergio, his family and his friends and took complete control of a situation that could have gone so much differently. I believe these boys witnessed it also and for that, I am so thankful.
 |
| First grade trip to Applefest From left: Sergio, Claire, Michael H., Patrick, Will, Dylan and Jonathan All but Claire are on the basketball team, along with some not pictured |
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Glimpse of Divinity
Right now, more than ever, I need the psychological release that long runs provide. Unfortunately, physically, I also need this downtime.
These days I find myself wishing for the simplicity of small children and their small issues over the complexity of big children and their bigger issues. I refer to, of course, my almost 14, 11, 10 and 6 year old. I imagine that those with even older kids, say mid to upper teens, are thinking, "Oh honey, just you wait. Yours are still young!" And I know that. But the glimpse of the uncertainty of the years ahead is a bit scary and some days I want to go back to babies who have kept me up all night, skinned knees and crying over having to take a nap.
Each of my kids needs me right now. They need me in ways they never have even if they don't necessarily want me. This is especially true with Will, 14 next month. This very easy going, loving, sensitive and funny boy has transformed into this moody, argumentative, know it all teen. He pushes my buttons, pushes his limits and many days we go head to head in battle. I often find myself wondering if I just need to be silent and listen or continue arguing my point to make sure he gets it. All I can think of is the fact that I have one chance to not blow it. There are no do-overs when raising kids. I believe God knows my fears and occasionally sends me messages that I (or I should say WE) are doing a good job and that he is on his way to becoming a wonderful young man, despite the bumpy road. Will recently wrote a student essay for a high school application. In it, he mentioned how fortunate he is to be growing up in such a faith-filled family. He described this influence as being one that he hopes helps him lead others. During the last two weeks, I have gone back to that in my mind to help ease some of the anxiety I have right now. If he really means that, and I believe he does, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will be just fine.
Jack, 10 next week, has very different needs. At the age of 6, based on a thorough assessment of his teachers, pediatrician and us (John and me), was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD. I scratched my head at the diagnosis back then since Jack is not hyperactive, nor is he really a discipline problem. I now realize that the "H" (for hyperactive) is just standardly put into most attention deficit diagnosis. When this was first discovered, I was adamantly opposed to medicating him. I made myself extremely clear that this was not a route we wanted to take. Thankfully, our pediatrician was sensitive to our wishes and helped give us ways to manage his inattention and focus ability so that he could do well in school.
With that discussion, however, came a warning... "As the workload in school becomes harder and more focus and attention is needed, no matter how intelligent he is, he may begin struggling to maintain his grades. Often times we begin to see these kids bringing home Ds and Fs in about the 3rd or 4th grade, where they were bringing home As and Bs before. At this point, many parents find themselves needing to introduce meds and when they do, their children's grades go back to As and Bs since they are able to focus and pay attention."
His words were eerily prophetic. That is exactly what is happening right now. Only I am still trying my best to manage his inability to focus on difficult tasks without medication. We have turned our house upside down revamping his diet, removing things we have researched as being harmful for kids like Jack and putting him on a diet that has been shown to help these kids. Let it be known that this is killing us. We spend hours doing homework, most of the time trying to get him to just sit down and start working (or stay down and continue working). He forgets everything and is the most disorganized child you will ever meet. He refused to go to basketball practice yesterday and instead came home in the carpool and told me he quit. I was so angry until I looked into his little face and saw the fear he had telling me. Sports are getting harder for him. He can't remember the drills or where he is supposed to be on the court. He's small and can't make a lay-up (he told me as he cried). The other kids are bigger and better. My heart breaks for him and yet I know that there are other kids with MUCH bigger challenges in life. But he is MY kid and he is struggling and this is very hard for me to watch and wonder if I am doing him a terrible disservice by my refusal to medicate. His 10 year check up is December 5th, where we will go back to the drawing board and discuss all of our options.
I sometimes forget that 6 is still little. I think we are out of the woods when it comes to needing a watchful eye on Lucy around the house. Things don't need to be baby proofed anymore. I don't need to put the liquor up high (on the contrary, these days I keep it VERY close) and she is free to run about without me needing to follow her. So on Friday night when she crawled across the stove, putting her hand on the hot range in an effort to reach the salt shaker, I was reminded that she IS still little. Lucy has 2nd degree burns across her entire palm and some of her finger tips. I had no idea how serious this is when it happens on the hand. She earned a trip to the ER, where the on-call physician told John that a consult at Shriners Burns Institute would be a good idea. We thought he was being a little over the top until yesterday. Last evening I spoke to a neighbor who is a fire fighter and paramedic. His 6 year old recently burned her elbow on the stove and it became infected, causing a fever and earning her a nice round of antibiotics. Figuring he sees this sort of thing often, I texted him a picture, concerned about the redness around the large blisters. He texted me back and told me to call him. I did and he asked if we had been to Shriners. He began to tell me all the reasons it is necessary to get a consult there when a burn like this occurs... the high risk of infection due to it being on the hand, the fact that there are so many tendons in the hand that when the blister heals, the hand is likely to remain in a contracted state, requiring lots of PT to help release the scar tissue. Lucy is already holding her hand continuously in a "C" shape. He continued to tell me that every single child he has brought to Children's ER with this type of burn is sent over to Shriners. Huh? Her hand was off the burner in less than 1 second and we had it under cold water immediately. How could this have become such an ordeal? She sees the pediatrician at 9 this morning. I am hoping we don't have to cancel Thanksgiving for a Shriners admission!
The silver lining in our house these days is Emma, age 11. The most unlikely of the four to be showering me with hugs and love is indeed, showering me with hugs and love. Emma was the baby who didn't like to cuddle or be rocked. She was squirmy and on the move all the time. She was a rotten toddler, a punkish little girl and a sassy child. She has a quick temper and a sense of humor far beyond her years. She makes me crazy and she makes me laugh. And yet lately she has been my one child that has given me the affirmation I've needed that I am not failing my children. Emma is beautiful and graceful and funny as heck. She is fiercely protective of Lucy and a top notch student. I have yet to find a teacher who doesn't love having her in class and love her humor. When she is not home, I miss her presence. And I firmly believe that this will all come to a screeching halt in about 14 months, when she turns the ripe old age of.... 13.
But for now I am able to see how God works. Through all the uncertainty and worry of raising kids, there are constant messages that He is close and that I am doing ok as a mother. For these things I encounter daily, I am so grateful. Monday it was the hour and 10 minutes I spent running with Sarah, talking about many of these issues and so much more and feeling in good company with many of my motherly struggles. Yesterday it was Lucy telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be "a mommy, a nurse, and a marathoner..." It was Will giving me the requested hug in the morning and knowing it was sincere. It was watching Jack, once again, play priest (when he was supposed to be at basketball practice) and seeing the reverence and respect he had for the crucifix he was parading around. And it was Emma telling me she loved me as she hopped out of the car and in to school.
But mostly, it was John walking through the door at 5:11 pm and taking over :)
Happy Thanksgiving! In the midst of hardship and chaos, notice your blessings and the Divine presence that it with you always.
These days I find myself wishing for the simplicity of small children and their small issues over the complexity of big children and their bigger issues. I refer to, of course, my almost 14, 11, 10 and 6 year old. I imagine that those with even older kids, say mid to upper teens, are thinking, "Oh honey, just you wait. Yours are still young!" And I know that. But the glimpse of the uncertainty of the years ahead is a bit scary and some days I want to go back to babies who have kept me up all night, skinned knees and crying over having to take a nap.
Each of my kids needs me right now. They need me in ways they never have even if they don't necessarily want me. This is especially true with Will, 14 next month. This very easy going, loving, sensitive and funny boy has transformed into this moody, argumentative, know it all teen. He pushes my buttons, pushes his limits and many days we go head to head in battle. I often find myself wondering if I just need to be silent and listen or continue arguing my point to make sure he gets it. All I can think of is the fact that I have one chance to not blow it. There are no do-overs when raising kids. I believe God knows my fears and occasionally sends me messages that I (or I should say WE) are doing a good job and that he is on his way to becoming a wonderful young man, despite the bumpy road. Will recently wrote a student essay for a high school application. In it, he mentioned how fortunate he is to be growing up in such a faith-filled family. He described this influence as being one that he hopes helps him lead others. During the last two weeks, I have gone back to that in my mind to help ease some of the anxiety I have right now. If he really means that, and I believe he does, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will be just fine.
Jack, 10 next week, has very different needs. At the age of 6, based on a thorough assessment of his teachers, pediatrician and us (John and me), was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD. I scratched my head at the diagnosis back then since Jack is not hyperactive, nor is he really a discipline problem. I now realize that the "H" (for hyperactive) is just standardly put into most attention deficit diagnosis. When this was first discovered, I was adamantly opposed to medicating him. I made myself extremely clear that this was not a route we wanted to take. Thankfully, our pediatrician was sensitive to our wishes and helped give us ways to manage his inattention and focus ability so that he could do well in school.
With that discussion, however, came a warning... "As the workload in school becomes harder and more focus and attention is needed, no matter how intelligent he is, he may begin struggling to maintain his grades. Often times we begin to see these kids bringing home Ds and Fs in about the 3rd or 4th grade, where they were bringing home As and Bs before. At this point, many parents find themselves needing to introduce meds and when they do, their children's grades go back to As and Bs since they are able to focus and pay attention."
His words were eerily prophetic. That is exactly what is happening right now. Only I am still trying my best to manage his inability to focus on difficult tasks without medication. We have turned our house upside down revamping his diet, removing things we have researched as being harmful for kids like Jack and putting him on a diet that has been shown to help these kids. Let it be known that this is killing us. We spend hours doing homework, most of the time trying to get him to just sit down and start working (or stay down and continue working). He forgets everything and is the most disorganized child you will ever meet. He refused to go to basketball practice yesterday and instead came home in the carpool and told me he quit. I was so angry until I looked into his little face and saw the fear he had telling me. Sports are getting harder for him. He can't remember the drills or where he is supposed to be on the court. He's small and can't make a lay-up (he told me as he cried). The other kids are bigger and better. My heart breaks for him and yet I know that there are other kids with MUCH bigger challenges in life. But he is MY kid and he is struggling and this is very hard for me to watch and wonder if I am doing him a terrible disservice by my refusal to medicate. His 10 year check up is December 5th, where we will go back to the drawing board and discuss all of our options.
I sometimes forget that 6 is still little. I think we are out of the woods when it comes to needing a watchful eye on Lucy around the house. Things don't need to be baby proofed anymore. I don't need to put the liquor up high (on the contrary, these days I keep it VERY close) and she is free to run about without me needing to follow her. So on Friday night when she crawled across the stove, putting her hand on the hot range in an effort to reach the salt shaker, I was reminded that she IS still little. Lucy has 2nd degree burns across her entire palm and some of her finger tips. I had no idea how serious this is when it happens on the hand. She earned a trip to the ER, where the on-call physician told John that a consult at Shriners Burns Institute would be a good idea. We thought he was being a little over the top until yesterday. Last evening I spoke to a neighbor who is a fire fighter and paramedic. His 6 year old recently burned her elbow on the stove and it became infected, causing a fever and earning her a nice round of antibiotics. Figuring he sees this sort of thing often, I texted him a picture, concerned about the redness around the large blisters. He texted me back and told me to call him. I did and he asked if we had been to Shriners. He began to tell me all the reasons it is necessary to get a consult there when a burn like this occurs... the high risk of infection due to it being on the hand, the fact that there are so many tendons in the hand that when the blister heals, the hand is likely to remain in a contracted state, requiring lots of PT to help release the scar tissue. Lucy is already holding her hand continuously in a "C" shape. He continued to tell me that every single child he has brought to Children's ER with this type of burn is sent over to Shriners. Huh? Her hand was off the burner in less than 1 second and we had it under cold water immediately. How could this have become such an ordeal? She sees the pediatrician at 9 this morning. I am hoping we don't have to cancel Thanksgiving for a Shriners admission!
The silver lining in our house these days is Emma, age 11. The most unlikely of the four to be showering me with hugs and love is indeed, showering me with hugs and love. Emma was the baby who didn't like to cuddle or be rocked. She was squirmy and on the move all the time. She was a rotten toddler, a punkish little girl and a sassy child. She has a quick temper and a sense of humor far beyond her years. She makes me crazy and she makes me laugh. And yet lately she has been my one child that has given me the affirmation I've needed that I am not failing my children. Emma is beautiful and graceful and funny as heck. She is fiercely protective of Lucy and a top notch student. I have yet to find a teacher who doesn't love having her in class and love her humor. When she is not home, I miss her presence. And I firmly believe that this will all come to a screeching halt in about 14 months, when she turns the ripe old age of.... 13.
But for now I am able to see how God works. Through all the uncertainty and worry of raising kids, there are constant messages that He is close and that I am doing ok as a mother. For these things I encounter daily, I am so grateful. Monday it was the hour and 10 minutes I spent running with Sarah, talking about many of these issues and so much more and feeling in good company with many of my motherly struggles. Yesterday it was Lucy telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be "a mommy, a nurse, and a marathoner..." It was Will giving me the requested hug in the morning and knowing it was sincere. It was watching Jack, once again, play priest (when he was supposed to be at basketball practice) and seeing the reverence and respect he had for the crucifix he was parading around. And it was Emma telling me she loved me as she hopped out of the car and in to school.
But mostly, it was John walking through the door at 5:11 pm and taking over :)
Happy Thanksgiving! In the midst of hardship and chaos, notice your blessings and the Divine presence that it with you always.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Another blog not really about running, but whateve... it's needed
I am still afraid, but after taking a step back, I decided that I simply need to focus on becoming a better, more spiritual, tolerant and wholesome person and not succumb to the hatred and division that is making Satan rejoice. But then I think of my children and the anger and panic come back. How do I raise these people to adhere to a moral code that society does not? How do I drive home the point that just because something is legal, doesn't make it right? And how do I do it without creating pompous, self righteous judges in the process? Why does this have to be SO HARD?
My 13 year old loves Instagram. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Too lazy to explain. Anyway, I follow him and the other day I was looking at the things he was posting. A lot of them were political poster pictures poking fun of President Obama. I immediately called him in and told him he needed to remove them and that he could not do that.
"Why? I'm just standing up for what I believe."
"No you aren't. You are being callous and disrespectful and you cannot do that. Respect the office, Will. It doesn't mean to have to like what he stands for, but if you are going to be stupid with social media, you cannot be on it anymore."
Ok, I'd better admit that I immediately wanted to go back and delete my angry post election entry should he see it. While I want my kids to adhere to a moral code different from that of our government, there is definitely a way NOT to do it. I am trying very hard not to be a "Do as I say, not as I do..." parent. Because any idiot knows that kids do what they see you do (even if they tell you that you are not cool and not funny).
So how do I go forward as a parent and as a Christian and as a runner (I just needed to throw running in there to make this mesh with the blog)?
There were a series of events that got me thinking about how to go about this. I am going to tell you, and I am really not proud of this, but on Wednesday I could not really bring myself to pray. I know, I know, never a good thing to give God the silent treatment. I was so mad at everything and everyone. I knew I needed to stop and just say some prayers, but I was busy being ticked. So I ignored that ever present voice inside my head telling me to hit my knees. But that God is so clever and does not like to be ignored. He simply will draw your attention to things, that if you are aware of His constant presence, show you what He wants you to do.
The first was a greeting card I received on Monday from a dear friend with a beautiful and sweet message. As I was shuffling some papers on my desk, the card I had already read, caught my eye (this was on Wednesday). I opened it up again and read it again. One of the sentences said something about being awed by my "deep commitment to love unconditionally." Immediately I stopped what I was doing. All day my mind had been filled with resentment and anger. That one line suddenly made me feel like a fraud. I was anything but "loving unconditionally" that day.
The next was my creeping on Will's Instagram account (poor kid hates that I follow him... too bad he has no choice :) Doing this made me realize what a hypocrite I was by telling him to essentially "hate the sin, love the sinner." Didn't I love the idea of "outbreeding those bastards"?
On Thursday morning, I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I was listening to 93.3, which now is featuring Christmas music. No judging... I could listen to Christmas music all year long and sometimes do. Anyway, the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" came on. I love that song, but have never really listened to the words. Thursday I did and boy, it's meaning could move a boulder to tears.
Finally, while I was ironing table cloths for Thanksgiving (stop being jealous of my exciting life and instead be proud that I am two weeks ahead on that task...), I got a text from my sister Maggie. And I hope you don't mind, Mag, but I am sharing it because it was very powerful.
"Well, I've resigned myself to implore the help of St. Paul, who like Obama, hated Christians, and yet he was converted. Converting the thug in chief is our only hope for the next 4 years...(icons with little sad faces)."
So maybe Maggie wasn't ENTIRELY Christian in her text, but her message was awesome. Suddenly things kind of clicked and I think I actually said out loud, "Ok. I hear you."
Hate breeds hate. Division and anger is just as big a threat to our country as its immoral laws. It is our duty to pray for one another. That is how change is made. That is the only way this great nation will stay great. This incredibly powerful message was coming at me from every direction, as evidenced by the things I just talked about.
So that is how I will go forward. I will pray for our president, our Senate, House and Supreme Court justices. I will pray that the decisions they make are in the best interest of the country and that whatever they are, they align with the will of God. If we all do this, miraculous things will happen. That is our only hope for change.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOC0HaGmOBg&feature=related
My 13 year old loves Instagram. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Too lazy to explain. Anyway, I follow him and the other day I was looking at the things he was posting. A lot of them were political poster pictures poking fun of President Obama. I immediately called him in and told him he needed to remove them and that he could not do that.
"Why? I'm just standing up for what I believe."
"No you aren't. You are being callous and disrespectful and you cannot do that. Respect the office, Will. It doesn't mean to have to like what he stands for, but if you are going to be stupid with social media, you cannot be on it anymore."
Ok, I'd better admit that I immediately wanted to go back and delete my angry post election entry should he see it. While I want my kids to adhere to a moral code different from that of our government, there is definitely a way NOT to do it. I am trying very hard not to be a "Do as I say, not as I do..." parent. Because any idiot knows that kids do what they see you do (even if they tell you that you are not cool and not funny).
So how do I go forward as a parent and as a Christian and as a runner (I just needed to throw running in there to make this mesh with the blog)?
There were a series of events that got me thinking about how to go about this. I am going to tell you, and I am really not proud of this, but on Wednesday I could not really bring myself to pray. I know, I know, never a good thing to give God the silent treatment. I was so mad at everything and everyone. I knew I needed to stop and just say some prayers, but I was busy being ticked. So I ignored that ever present voice inside my head telling me to hit my knees. But that God is so clever and does not like to be ignored. He simply will draw your attention to things, that if you are aware of His constant presence, show you what He wants you to do.
The first was a greeting card I received on Monday from a dear friend with a beautiful and sweet message. As I was shuffling some papers on my desk, the card I had already read, caught my eye (this was on Wednesday). I opened it up again and read it again. One of the sentences said something about being awed by my "deep commitment to love unconditionally." Immediately I stopped what I was doing. All day my mind had been filled with resentment and anger. That one line suddenly made me feel like a fraud. I was anything but "loving unconditionally" that day.
The next was my creeping on Will's Instagram account (poor kid hates that I follow him... too bad he has no choice :) Doing this made me realize what a hypocrite I was by telling him to essentially "hate the sin, love the sinner." Didn't I love the idea of "outbreeding those bastards"?
On Thursday morning, I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I was listening to 93.3, which now is featuring Christmas music. No judging... I could listen to Christmas music all year long and sometimes do. Anyway, the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" came on. I love that song, but have never really listened to the words. Thursday I did and boy, it's meaning could move a boulder to tears.
Finally, while I was ironing table cloths for Thanksgiving (stop being jealous of my exciting life and instead be proud that I am two weeks ahead on that task...), I got a text from my sister Maggie. And I hope you don't mind, Mag, but I am sharing it because it was very powerful.
"Well, I've resigned myself to implore the help of St. Paul, who like Obama, hated Christians, and yet he was converted. Converting the thug in chief is our only hope for the next 4 years...(icons with little sad faces)."
So maybe Maggie wasn't ENTIRELY Christian in her text, but her message was awesome. Suddenly things kind of clicked and I think I actually said out loud, "Ok. I hear you."
Hate breeds hate. Division and anger is just as big a threat to our country as its immoral laws. It is our duty to pray for one another. That is how change is made. That is the only way this great nation will stay great. This incredibly powerful message was coming at me from every direction, as evidenced by the things I just talked about.
So that is how I will go forward. I will pray for our president, our Senate, House and Supreme Court justices. I will pray that the decisions they make are in the best interest of the country and that whatever they are, they align with the will of God. If we all do this, miraculous things will happen. That is our only hope for change.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOC0HaGmOBg&feature=related
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Retreat
It's time for a break. And I don't mean just in running mileage, but in other areas as well. Two days ago, six year old Lucy came home from school and wanted me to see her paperwork. Her sense of urgency was over the top.
"Mommy, you HAVE to see my stuff. I took a test today and I want you to see it. Oh and I did "dibels" and I was done in seventeen seconds mommy... SEVENTEEN! We actually get one minute, but I was done in seventeen. Isn't that GREAT?" Are you proud?" Dibels refers to a test that kindergarteners are given to test their recognition of numbers and letters and the sounds different letters make. They are supposed to recognize a minimum specific number in one minute. Apparently Lucy was quite proud that she crushed it all in seventeen seconds. And got them all correct.
"That's awesome, Lucy. Give me one second and I'll look at your stuff." I was preoccupied at the time. I was following an all important Facebook battle between two of my "friends". It was a political battle and the two people going back and forth were on opposing sides. It was getting quite heated.
"Mommy, look NOW! I don't want to wait. I want to show you."
I could feel the heat rising as she continued to hound me. It was honestly the first time I'd sat down.(except for the long two hour lunch I had just sat down for to celebrate a friend's birthday... funny I don't count that). I had just gotten on the computer ten minutes before the kids got home. Lucy continued to plead, which quickly turned into a whine. Jack walked in and immediately asks me if I'd gone out to get him the sweatshirt he had been asking for.
"Jack, I said you could have it for your birthday. Now please go away." Please go away? He'd been gone for nearly eight hours at school.
"That's STUPID. Why do I have to wait for my birthday?"
"Because you don't get anything you ask for just because you want it right now. Now GET OUT."
I finally slammed down my fist, shut down my screen and stomped downstairs. Lucy followed with her backpack in tow.
"Now will you look at my stuff?"
"Give it to me. I don't know why you guys can't just be patient. Jeez, you need attention 24/7 and God forbid I am not giving it to you the second you ask..."
And so it went on. My ranting about what ungrateful, selfish, needy little time suckers they were. I didn't actually say that, but my words definitely implied it. Emma and Will seemed unaffected. It was as if they'd heard this broken record so many times they could recite it word for word.
The evening went on as it normally does. I read a book and went to bed and woke up at 3:30 yesterday morning. I laid there with a very unsettling feeling. Something wasn't right and I could not put my finger on it. I got up, went downstairs and grabbed some coffee and went to my computer and as soon as Facebook popped up, I KNEW what it was. I was reminded of the exchange with Jack and Lucy the day before. I was immediately able to see that this virtual world in front of me had taken priority over my live children. All four of my kids are gone all day in school and when they get home, not only do they need my undivided attention, but they deserve it. And on so many levels, over and over again, I have failed to acknowledge that. Instead, I am dependent on a world that doesn't matter. I am over the top involved in lives that light up my computer screen. That doesn't mean the people on Facebook don't matter, it means that it shouldn't matter to me what the hell they had for dinner or what their kids are selling or why they think Obama is God (or Romney). At least it shouldn't matter at 3:40 in the afternoon. Maybe it should matter instead at 5:00 am, on a morning that I am not running. But then again, maybe it shouldn't matter then either. Facebook isn't bad. There are wonderful prayer pages and prayer chains that stem from Facebook. It's been a way to see my family from out of town and see my nieces and nephews grow up. It's been the way that my friends and I have built a running community and inspired so many in our town to run. It's been a way to promote businesses. And if I could limit myself to using it for just those things things, or in other words, find a healthy balance, it would work perfectly into my life.
And so I realized my harmful attachment to this thing that was affecting my parenting had to go, at least for a little while. I don't have the discipline to just not get on FB when my phone pings with notifications anytime I get a message or comment. So I deactivated my account until January 1st. Then I suppose I will reevaluate whether or not I even want to be back. Perhaps it's like an alcoholic saying they will have "just one beer..." But I am going to try to use it only for the above mentioned things.
My neighbor approached me last night and said "How will I get my Nora fix if you don't post?" I said that she may actually have to type in the web address... if she thought she could manage :)
I find it amazing, and then again I don't, that the things I pray for are answered in such an obvious way. I also ask for help in recognizing how they are being answered. I always ask for help to be a better mother and wife. All other earthly jobs or titles I have pale in comparison to the importance of those two. What reason did I have for waking up unsettled? Why did I know as soon as Facebook popped up what needed to be done? Some days I don't even know what to pray about or ask for and so my prayer is simple. "You know what I need today more than I do. Guide me." And so He did.
It is time for me to retreat from my usual world of running many miles and keeping up with virtual reality. It is time for rest and time for weeding out what does not matter. It is time to really cherish and give thanks for what is physically in front of me, begging for and needing my attention and guidance.
And what a perfect and beautiful season for such a retreat to begin!
"Mommy, you HAVE to see my stuff. I took a test today and I want you to see it. Oh and I did "dibels" and I was done in seventeen seconds mommy... SEVENTEEN! We actually get one minute, but I was done in seventeen. Isn't that GREAT?" Are you proud?" Dibels refers to a test that kindergarteners are given to test their recognition of numbers and letters and the sounds different letters make. They are supposed to recognize a minimum specific number in one minute. Apparently Lucy was quite proud that she crushed it all in seventeen seconds. And got them all correct.
"That's awesome, Lucy. Give me one second and I'll look at your stuff." I was preoccupied at the time. I was following an all important Facebook battle between two of my "friends". It was a political battle and the two people going back and forth were on opposing sides. It was getting quite heated.
"Mommy, look NOW! I don't want to wait. I want to show you."
I could feel the heat rising as she continued to hound me. It was honestly the first time I'd sat down.(except for the long two hour lunch I had just sat down for to celebrate a friend's birthday... funny I don't count that). I had just gotten on the computer ten minutes before the kids got home. Lucy continued to plead, which quickly turned into a whine. Jack walked in and immediately asks me if I'd gone out to get him the sweatshirt he had been asking for.
"Jack, I said you could have it for your birthday. Now please go away." Please go away? He'd been gone for nearly eight hours at school.
"That's STUPID. Why do I have to wait for my birthday?"
"Because you don't get anything you ask for just because you want it right now. Now GET OUT."
I finally slammed down my fist, shut down my screen and stomped downstairs. Lucy followed with her backpack in tow.
"Now will you look at my stuff?"
"Give it to me. I don't know why you guys can't just be patient. Jeez, you need attention 24/7 and God forbid I am not giving it to you the second you ask..."
And so it went on. My ranting about what ungrateful, selfish, needy little time suckers they were. I didn't actually say that, but my words definitely implied it. Emma and Will seemed unaffected. It was as if they'd heard this broken record so many times they could recite it word for word.
The evening went on as it normally does. I read a book and went to bed and woke up at 3:30 yesterday morning. I laid there with a very unsettling feeling. Something wasn't right and I could not put my finger on it. I got up, went downstairs and grabbed some coffee and went to my computer and as soon as Facebook popped up, I KNEW what it was. I was reminded of the exchange with Jack and Lucy the day before. I was immediately able to see that this virtual world in front of me had taken priority over my live children. All four of my kids are gone all day in school and when they get home, not only do they need my undivided attention, but they deserve it. And on so many levels, over and over again, I have failed to acknowledge that. Instead, I am dependent on a world that doesn't matter. I am over the top involved in lives that light up my computer screen. That doesn't mean the people on Facebook don't matter, it means that it shouldn't matter to me what the hell they had for dinner or what their kids are selling or why they think Obama is God (or Romney). At least it shouldn't matter at 3:40 in the afternoon. Maybe it should matter instead at 5:00 am, on a morning that I am not running. But then again, maybe it shouldn't matter then either. Facebook isn't bad. There are wonderful prayer pages and prayer chains that stem from Facebook. It's been a way to see my family from out of town and see my nieces and nephews grow up. It's been the way that my friends and I have built a running community and inspired so many in our town to run. It's been a way to promote businesses. And if I could limit myself to using it for just those things things, or in other words, find a healthy balance, it would work perfectly into my life.
And so I realized my harmful attachment to this thing that was affecting my parenting had to go, at least for a little while. I don't have the discipline to just not get on FB when my phone pings with notifications anytime I get a message or comment. So I deactivated my account until January 1st. Then I suppose I will reevaluate whether or not I even want to be back. Perhaps it's like an alcoholic saying they will have "just one beer..." But I am going to try to use it only for the above mentioned things.
My neighbor approached me last night and said "How will I get my Nora fix if you don't post?" I said that she may actually have to type in the web address... if she thought she could manage :)
I find it amazing, and then again I don't, that the things I pray for are answered in such an obvious way. I also ask for help in recognizing how they are being answered. I always ask for help to be a better mother and wife. All other earthly jobs or titles I have pale in comparison to the importance of those two. What reason did I have for waking up unsettled? Why did I know as soon as Facebook popped up what needed to be done? Some days I don't even know what to pray about or ask for and so my prayer is simple. "You know what I need today more than I do. Guide me." And so He did.
It is time for me to retreat from my usual world of running many miles and keeping up with virtual reality. It is time for rest and time for weeding out what does not matter. It is time to really cherish and give thanks for what is physically in front of me, begging for and needing my attention and guidance.
And what a perfect and beautiful season for such a retreat to begin!
Monday, October 29, 2012
MCM
In regard to my last post, Dad, rest assured, I have cleared Purgatory and everyone is now in Heaven.
Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon. It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget. My husband shocked me with his performance. I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy. At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later. He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance. The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out. After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice. He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness. He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing. I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say. I am, after all, a running coach!
Well this running coach was wrong. Dead wrong. Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him. Somehow, he did. And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me. But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.
My morning started at 3 am Sunday. I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache. I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours. I first thought I was just dehydrated. We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning. Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable. We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house. So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...). I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.
All day Saturday I forced fluids. I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating. I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy. I knew this would come in handy during the race. The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more. I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker". At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom. The headache was evident and my body was wiped out. The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all. I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry. How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day. What the hell am I doing to myself? I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all. It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down. It wasn't negative thinking. It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.
I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5. I then got up, knowing I had to eat. Maybe coffee would help. The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee. John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir. Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat. I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee. I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup. I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand. He continued to lay there and not move. So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!" He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up. I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).
Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something. He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me. I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45. I'm telling you that I want you to race. I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race. I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks. I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon. You just go do your thing." Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.
"Why did you not tell me this?"
"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."
"No."
"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."
At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears. He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed. I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.
"I can't do it today, John. I don't have it. I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4. We will line up with the 4 hour pacer. Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45." Yup, that quick. And then came the nerves. I am as crazy as a shit house rat.
We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby. Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start. The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners. As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see. It was Arlington National Cemetery. Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture. On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington. Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so. You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.
We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral. We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me. I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see. Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes. It was crazy cool. The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off. In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.
In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening. That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start. I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace. John felt great from the start. I could just tell. His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be. By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better. "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance." This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings. We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!). I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way. I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us. At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force. This was when I knew I was in trouble. No such trouble lingered today. My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled. Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution. John commented on the number of runners passing us. I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles. We will see many of them again."
At around mile 15, the race began to change. John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..." He was hurting. I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history. "It's ok. Just stay steady. We are ok.", I said. And then the wind started. We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race. We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand. One foot in front other. With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit. I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20. So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.
My race changed dramatically at mile 21. While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine. We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor. "You have just 5 miles to do this for him. Just 5. That's nothing. That's a Marvin loop. Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that. Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer. Yeah, much better!" Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out. It was time to run in prayer. It was time to suck it up and stay steady. Why was I here? I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be. Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends. I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child. A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with. I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder. Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race. I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time. I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend. I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran. I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her. I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William. Each thought carried me forward. But the miles were getting super hard. At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill. I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it. My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running. John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot. By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead. I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong. "Buddy, go. Go get that sub 4. You can get it." "Nope, I don't care. We are running together." "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!" I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston. I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them. "Come ON, Kate... get it together. 2.5 miles to go. Those girls gutted it out and so can you. DO NOT lose this for John." Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it. I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head. There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration. It wasn't a fuel issue. I wasn't shuffling, I was running. It was an exhaustion issue. At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish. Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me." I could not believe those words came from my mouth. But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill. That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away. Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one. That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit. As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand. We crossed hand in hand.
Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled. I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did. There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face. He was ecstatic!
We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running. "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.
It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course. I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do. It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there. God Bless the USA.
Semper Fi
Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon. It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget. My husband shocked me with his performance. I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy. At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later. He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance. The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out. After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice. He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness. He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing. I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say. I am, after all, a running coach!
Well this running coach was wrong. Dead wrong. Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him. Somehow, he did. And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me. But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.
My morning started at 3 am Sunday. I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache. I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours. I first thought I was just dehydrated. We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning. Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable. We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house. So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...). I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.
All day Saturday I forced fluids. I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating. I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy. I knew this would come in handy during the race. The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more. I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker". At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom. The headache was evident and my body was wiped out. The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all. I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry. How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day. What the hell am I doing to myself? I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all. It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down. It wasn't negative thinking. It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.
I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5. I then got up, knowing I had to eat. Maybe coffee would help. The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee. John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir. Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat. I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee. I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup. I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand. He continued to lay there and not move. So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!" He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up. I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).
Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something. He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me. I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45. I'm telling you that I want you to race. I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race. I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks. I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon. You just go do your thing." Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.
"Why did you not tell me this?"
"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."
"No."
"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."
At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears. He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed. I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.
"I can't do it today, John. I don't have it. I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4. We will line up with the 4 hour pacer. Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45." Yup, that quick. And then came the nerves. I am as crazy as a shit house rat.
We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby. Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start. The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners. As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see. It was Arlington National Cemetery. Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture. On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington. Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so. You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.
We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral. We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me. I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see. Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes. It was crazy cool. The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off. In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.
In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening. That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start. I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace. John felt great from the start. I could just tell. His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be. By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better. "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance." This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings. We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!). I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way. I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us. At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force. This was when I knew I was in trouble. No such trouble lingered today. My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled. Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution. John commented on the number of runners passing us. I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles. We will see many of them again."
At around mile 15, the race began to change. John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..." He was hurting. I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history. "It's ok. Just stay steady. We are ok.", I said. And then the wind started. We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race. We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand. One foot in front other. With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit. I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20. So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.
My race changed dramatically at mile 21. While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine. We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor. "You have just 5 miles to do this for him. Just 5. That's nothing. That's a Marvin loop. Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that. Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer. Yeah, much better!" Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out. It was time to run in prayer. It was time to suck it up and stay steady. Why was I here? I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be. Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends. I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child. A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with. I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder. Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race. I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time. I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend. I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran. I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her. I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William. Each thought carried me forward. But the miles were getting super hard. At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill. I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it. My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running. John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot. By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead. I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong. "Buddy, go. Go get that sub 4. You can get it." "Nope, I don't care. We are running together." "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!" I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston. I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them. "Come ON, Kate... get it together. 2.5 miles to go. Those girls gutted it out and so can you. DO NOT lose this for John." Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it. I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head. There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration. It wasn't a fuel issue. I wasn't shuffling, I was running. It was an exhaustion issue. At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish. Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me." I could not believe those words came from my mouth. But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill. That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away. Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one. That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit. As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand. We crossed hand in hand.
Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled. I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did. There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face. He was ecstatic!
We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running. "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.
It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course. I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do. It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there. God Bless the USA.
Semper Fi
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Offering it up
My dad used to have a saying that drove me crazy. Whenever something went wrong, or physical pain or discomfort was present, he would say the words, "Offer it up for the suffering souls in Purgatory." As a kid, teen and young adult, hearing those words annoyed me tremendously. I used to think, "Sure, dad, I'll happily accept the pain of this nail I just stepped on so that someone I don't even know and never will can get to Heaven. Whatever."
My, my, how things have changed. When it comes to running, there are more times than I can count that I have been struggling, when my dad's voice pops into my head... "Offer it up, Katie", (the name only the two most special men in my life call me). What strength and power those words now have! How much easier it has become to get through some difficult and trying runs when I can turn my own discomfort into something good for someone else. It's nothing I can see or touch, yet I know what power it yields and that brings great strength and happiness in the midst of pain.
On Sunday I went to Columbus because a few people I knew were running the marathon. This is the first time in five years that I have not participated in either the half or full marathon as a registered participant. I love the atmosphere and hype of a marathon and I really love watching the runners. I love to watch their faces and try to guess what is going on physically. I can see strength in the ones that are smiling and I can see many things in the ones that are not. Suttan and I went to run in 3 of our friends that were doing the full. The goal time was 3:45 or under, a time that would land each of them a spot in Boston in 2014. No three runners could be more different in their running histories, yet here they were, towing the line, racing for a common goal together.
After some confusion as to which direction we were actually heading (surprise, surprise... we got a bit mixed up...), we began making our way backwards from mile 26. Our plan was to meet them at mile 20 and hopefully keep them on pace to the finish. We agreed that had any of the 3 fallen behind, one of us would wait for that person and run her in. Because we were late to begin our backward search, we had to run most of it and figured if lucky, we'd meet them at about mile 22.
Along the way, I made a point of looking at the runners. I mean REALLY looking at them and studying what was going on. The end miles are so difficult physically and mentally. If I could have jumped in and hugged each sweaty, salt-crusted, gritty one, I am pretty sure I would have. I have so much admiration for the determined, gutsy runners out there grinding out the last few miles with sheer will power. I have so much sympathy for the ones suffering tremendously. I wanted to call out "Hey I know what you feel like... keep going, you are almost there...", but telling someone at mile 24 that they are almost finished with "2 more miles" is not a always great thing. You might as well tell them they have 30. Two miles is an absolute eternity when you hurt so badly. I hoped that maybe I could just connect with someone's eyes and they would know that I was rooting for them. Sometimes words are not necessary. I wondered who was on pace to finish in their goal time and who was crushed under the weight of missing the mark and feeling physically horrible. In my mind, I called out a thousand times "Offer it up, dude. It'll be so much sweeter that way."
Before long we spotted three matching shirts running towards us. The girls were together... FANTASTIC!!! There wasn't much smiling, but I could recognize relief in their faces upon seeing us. They were well on their way to a strong finish in under their goal time.
After filling their water bottles (I remember aid station workers running toward me at JFK, taking my bottles and having them ready when I ran by. That was a small, but very appreciated gesture), I told them I would run an 8:35 and they just needed to stay close. Well quite frankly, I couldn't tell how I was doing. I couldn't tell if they were fading or I was just running too fast since my Garmin was all over the place. So realizing the girls had time to spare, I just decided to run with them. They couldn't really pick up the pace, but they weren't falling behind either. They each had a different look about them, but all commonly fatigued as only one can be after running that far at that pace.
Within seconds of one another, they each finished in under 3:44. That was a very sweet moment as their faces all turned so quickly from pain and fatigue to joy. I was so grateful to have been part of that.
I am sure people wonder how I feel knowing the number of times I've tried to nail this time and seeing all three of these girls do it so flawlessly. It was even Erin's first marathon. And here is the honest answer...
There was a time when it would have, and did, sting a bit. I am human and it was hard to see what seemed like everyone, get what I wanted so badly. Why was everyone else having these incredible races and why were things falling into place when I was just as capable, yet unable, of getting it? Isn't this how we view so many things in life? With the "It's not fair!" mentality?
I believe the echo of my dad's words over and over have brought on a different, more evolved and more powerful purpose to my running. But it isn't just the echo of those words, but the implementation of them that has transformed me. It is indescribable what happens when you step outside of yourself and just do for others like we are supposed to do. I am thrilled for Jen, Cheryl and Erin. I look forward to the day I can nail that time and join them in Boston (wait... did I just type that? I sure have a lot on my plate next year :)
Thank you dad.
My, my, how things have changed. When it comes to running, there are more times than I can count that I have been struggling, when my dad's voice pops into my head... "Offer it up, Katie", (the name only the two most special men in my life call me). What strength and power those words now have! How much easier it has become to get through some difficult and trying runs when I can turn my own discomfort into something good for someone else. It's nothing I can see or touch, yet I know what power it yields and that brings great strength and happiness in the midst of pain.
On Sunday I went to Columbus because a few people I knew were running the marathon. This is the first time in five years that I have not participated in either the half or full marathon as a registered participant. I love the atmosphere and hype of a marathon and I really love watching the runners. I love to watch their faces and try to guess what is going on physically. I can see strength in the ones that are smiling and I can see many things in the ones that are not. Suttan and I went to run in 3 of our friends that were doing the full. The goal time was 3:45 or under, a time that would land each of them a spot in Boston in 2014. No three runners could be more different in their running histories, yet here they were, towing the line, racing for a common goal together.
After some confusion as to which direction we were actually heading (surprise, surprise... we got a bit mixed up...), we began making our way backwards from mile 26. Our plan was to meet them at mile 20 and hopefully keep them on pace to the finish. We agreed that had any of the 3 fallen behind, one of us would wait for that person and run her in. Because we were late to begin our backward search, we had to run most of it and figured if lucky, we'd meet them at about mile 22.
Along the way, I made a point of looking at the runners. I mean REALLY looking at them and studying what was going on. The end miles are so difficult physically and mentally. If I could have jumped in and hugged each sweaty, salt-crusted, gritty one, I am pretty sure I would have. I have so much admiration for the determined, gutsy runners out there grinding out the last few miles with sheer will power. I have so much sympathy for the ones suffering tremendously. I wanted to call out "Hey I know what you feel like... keep going, you are almost there...", but telling someone at mile 24 that they are almost finished with "2 more miles" is not a always great thing. You might as well tell them they have 30. Two miles is an absolute eternity when you hurt so badly. I hoped that maybe I could just connect with someone's eyes and they would know that I was rooting for them. Sometimes words are not necessary. I wondered who was on pace to finish in their goal time and who was crushed under the weight of missing the mark and feeling physically horrible. In my mind, I called out a thousand times "Offer it up, dude. It'll be so much sweeter that way."
Before long we spotted three matching shirts running towards us. The girls were together... FANTASTIC!!! There wasn't much smiling, but I could recognize relief in their faces upon seeing us. They were well on their way to a strong finish in under their goal time.
After filling their water bottles (I remember aid station workers running toward me at JFK, taking my bottles and having them ready when I ran by. That was a small, but very appreciated gesture), I told them I would run an 8:35 and they just needed to stay close. Well quite frankly, I couldn't tell how I was doing. I couldn't tell if they were fading or I was just running too fast since my Garmin was all over the place. So realizing the girls had time to spare, I just decided to run with them. They couldn't really pick up the pace, but they weren't falling behind either. They each had a different look about them, but all commonly fatigued as only one can be after running that far at that pace.
Within seconds of one another, they each finished in under 3:44. That was a very sweet moment as their faces all turned so quickly from pain and fatigue to joy. I was so grateful to have been part of that.
I am sure people wonder how I feel knowing the number of times I've tried to nail this time and seeing all three of these girls do it so flawlessly. It was even Erin's first marathon. And here is the honest answer...
There was a time when it would have, and did, sting a bit. I am human and it was hard to see what seemed like everyone, get what I wanted so badly. Why was everyone else having these incredible races and why were things falling into place when I was just as capable, yet unable, of getting it? Isn't this how we view so many things in life? With the "It's not fair!" mentality?
I believe the echo of my dad's words over and over have brought on a different, more evolved and more powerful purpose to my running. But it isn't just the echo of those words, but the implementation of them that has transformed me. It is indescribable what happens when you step outside of yourself and just do for others like we are supposed to do. I am thrilled for Jen, Cheryl and Erin. I look forward to the day I can nail that time and join them in Boston (wait... did I just type that? I sure have a lot on my plate next year :)
Thank you dad.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Blink
Life is but a blink in the grand scheme of eternity. It is a passing through from this world to the next, where we will spend forever. My goal is to live my life on earth as if it were a "training ground" (thank you, Tom Ryan) in preparation for my final destination. And you all know how much I looooveeee training!
Apparently Heaven is a place of unimaginable happiness. Anything our hearts and souls desire, becomes a reality in Heaven. I have tried to imagine many times over what this is like. I believe I have come up with my perfect Heaven. Upon arrival at the gates of Heaven, I will be judged. I imagine this to be the most frightening thing I have ever encountered. I imagine myself to be begging for mercy as my life is played in full view... no excuses, no denial of all the wrongs I've committed. They are all right there. But God is so merciful and also accentuates the good things I've done. He knows my soul inside and out and decides that I always TRIED hard to be better and follow Him, no matter the countless times I failed, I was always sorry and asked for forgiveness. It was because I tried that I enter into His kingdom.
I walk through the gates... no wait... GLIDE with my sweet new set of wings. I really don't need legs anymore. They are just decoration now. But the good Lord knows what I like and so I am led to my room. I enter the most glorious room one can ever imagine. It is filled with the finest, most state of the art running gear ever. In the back there is a door that leads to a breathless, beautifully wooded area with running trails as far as the eye can see. There is a knock on my door and it turns out to be Jesus, handing me his running schedule. Turns out that He, too, runs early. And of course, we run the same pace. I am suddenly overcome with emotion and so thankful that I recognized the need to be good on earth because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could top this moment. But there is more. There are marathons and ultra marathons in Heaven. There are pre-loading pasta dinners and when I arrive at the table, every person that I love who has gone before me is at the table. And now they have all discovered how much they love running (I suppose it is a lot easier in Heaven) and are also planning on running with me.
Do you know the sense of urgency I have to be there some day?
But I have work to do. For starters, every important decision I make must be guided with that goal in mind. The goal to spend eternity with God in Heaven. One of those decisions is what politician to put into office. Do not fool yourselves into thinking morality does not come into play here.
I am pro-life. As a pro-life person, I believe that life begins at conception. I believe the value of a two cell soul has the same value as a 6 year old breathing child. That is what it means to be pro-life. So no wonder it baffles me when I hear self pro-claimed pro-lifers saying they are voting for a president who does not believe the same thing. I have been told I am tunnel visioned. That there is more than one issue at stake. That abortion cannot be the only thing we think about when we vote. Huh? Read what I said... I BELIEVE A TWO CELL SOUL HAS THE SAME VALUE AS A 6 YEAR OLD BREATHING CHILD!! Would the good Lord be ok with me voting for a person who promised me wealth, financial security, free shit, lower taxes, college tuition for my kids and all that other stuff if the stipulation was that it would be legal to kill children, regardless of the reason? I think not. It is not pro-choice people that bother me when it comes to their vote. At least they aren't hypocrites.
I will vote my conscience in order to keep my eye on the prize... running with Jesus. I hope and pray that others do the same. Remember, life is but a blink.
Apparently Heaven is a place of unimaginable happiness. Anything our hearts and souls desire, becomes a reality in Heaven. I have tried to imagine many times over what this is like. I believe I have come up with my perfect Heaven. Upon arrival at the gates of Heaven, I will be judged. I imagine this to be the most frightening thing I have ever encountered. I imagine myself to be begging for mercy as my life is played in full view... no excuses, no denial of all the wrongs I've committed. They are all right there. But God is so merciful and also accentuates the good things I've done. He knows my soul inside and out and decides that I always TRIED hard to be better and follow Him, no matter the countless times I failed, I was always sorry and asked for forgiveness. It was because I tried that I enter into His kingdom.
I walk through the gates... no wait... GLIDE with my sweet new set of wings. I really don't need legs anymore. They are just decoration now. But the good Lord knows what I like and so I am led to my room. I enter the most glorious room one can ever imagine. It is filled with the finest, most state of the art running gear ever. In the back there is a door that leads to a breathless, beautifully wooded area with running trails as far as the eye can see. There is a knock on my door and it turns out to be Jesus, handing me his running schedule. Turns out that He, too, runs early. And of course, we run the same pace. I am suddenly overcome with emotion and so thankful that I recognized the need to be good on earth because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could top this moment. But there is more. There are marathons and ultra marathons in Heaven. There are pre-loading pasta dinners and when I arrive at the table, every person that I love who has gone before me is at the table. And now they have all discovered how much they love running (I suppose it is a lot easier in Heaven) and are also planning on running with me.
Do you know the sense of urgency I have to be there some day?
But I have work to do. For starters, every important decision I make must be guided with that goal in mind. The goal to spend eternity with God in Heaven. One of those decisions is what politician to put into office. Do not fool yourselves into thinking morality does not come into play here.
I am pro-life. As a pro-life person, I believe that life begins at conception. I believe the value of a two cell soul has the same value as a 6 year old breathing child. That is what it means to be pro-life. So no wonder it baffles me when I hear self pro-claimed pro-lifers saying they are voting for a president who does not believe the same thing. I have been told I am tunnel visioned. That there is more than one issue at stake. That abortion cannot be the only thing we think about when we vote. Huh? Read what I said... I BELIEVE A TWO CELL SOUL HAS THE SAME VALUE AS A 6 YEAR OLD BREATHING CHILD!! Would the good Lord be ok with me voting for a person who promised me wealth, financial security, free shit, lower taxes, college tuition for my kids and all that other stuff if the stipulation was that it would be legal to kill children, regardless of the reason? I think not. It is not pro-choice people that bother me when it comes to their vote. At least they aren't hypocrites.
I will vote my conscience in order to keep my eye on the prize... running with Jesus. I hope and pray that others do the same. Remember, life is but a blink.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Goodbye Boston
Another attempt come, gone and opportunity missed. I won't recap the whole Air Force Marathon, but simply say the race felt off beginning with mile 7, confirmed with heavy quads by mile 9 and sealed by mile 17, when I dropped off pace. Simply put, I was not fueled despite my best efforts in the 3 days before, the morning of, and during the race. I firmly believe it has everything to do with nerves and very little, if anything to do with training. I would not go back and change a thing about the way I trained. I was ready.
The good news is I am not injured and nothing catastrophic came from me running the full marathon. That is huge. Nothing worse than missing the mark and then coming away with a full blown injury that has you out for 4 months. I am surprisingly not nearly as sore as I figured I would be from practically using my muscles as a fuel source for part of that race. This is good and bad. Good because I feel like I simply just ran a hard long run and with just a few easy days I can continue prepping for the Marine Corp Marathon, which is in 6 weeks. Bad because it leaves questions of: Did I give up too early? Did it get harder than I expected and so mentally I shut the whole race down? Had I really pushed and tried I'd be so depleted and sore I couldn't get down stairs anyway but sideways for a few days. These are the mind tricks that come with reflecting on such an event. I will say that once I realized that I could not get my time, and by could not, I mean COULD NOT GET IT no matter how hard I pushed, I switched to "survival mode". By that I mean, in order for me not to walk off the course at around mile 17, where pushing was not getting me the splits I needed, I had to put myself in another place.... namely, the mental long/hard run place. I once again had to take the horrible feeling of defeat and regroup... or it would have been over. Regrouping meant just running through the discomfort the best way I could. I have done that countless times with long runs and so I knew if I switched my thinking, I could finish with a respectable time. That thinking probably saved me from crashing hard and crawling in with a time well over 4 hours had I tried to maintain marathon pace as long as I could. I was able to maintain a pace of about 9:15-9:30 min/miles with walks at every mile... sometimes 2 walks. I'm telling ya, walking saves your ASS when you have bitten it. The final mile I couldn't squeak out anything faster than a 10:06. I was getting super emotional as I dreaded crossing the mat and seeing John. He'd been tracking me and once again, had nearly the same amount of anxiety over this as I did. Last week, we were both so certain this was in the bag (as a matter of fact, I dreaded crossing the 35k mat, where he was going to see I was off pace. I actually considered going AROUND it!)
The beauty of the race, however, was shown through my sweet friend, Suttan, who I ran the race with. We were aiming for the same time goal. Suttan's qualifying time is a 3:55, but her PR was a 3:48. Her goal was a PR, thus the perfect running/race partner since our time goals were similar. We'd done many training runs together and were in agreement to the race strategy. I am lucky she even wanted to race with me since I told her not to talk to me, look at me or think about me (I get nasty when I don't feel good... I wanted to prepare her:) She pretty much said "No problem, I'll ignore your nasty self, but we will keep each other on pace." It was a fool-proof plan. We agreed that if the other fell off pace, we would just continue racing and not go down with that person. Suttan has had her share of injuries like I have. The last marathon she was able to race was the 2010 Air Force, where she got her then PR. After that, she battled problems with her achilles and calf that made it very hard for her to be ready to race anything. She and I were both healthy and ready for this. We really didn't believe either of us would have a problem.
When I told Suttan at mile 16 or 17 that I needed to switch things up because I was feeling bad, she slowed down. "I'm going to stay with you", she said. I replied, "No way! Please don't, Suttan. You are running strong and able to get your time." I continued to tell her I was fine and I really would be ok. That I could not longer run at pace and I needed to break the race down bit by bit. And so Suttan picked it up again, per my request.
Here is the thing, although we had agreed to go for our time, Suttan was willing to stay with me. To have trained so hard and so cautiously and to be in such prime shape for the race of her life and to offer to stay with me, and mean it, was a glimpse of an incredible kind and giving heart. Suttan wasn't bullshitting... she would have stayed if I asked her to. In fact, the mile she did stay with me, I believe put her just enough off pace to NOT get that 3:44:59 she wanted. Evidenced by her 3:46 finish, she stayed strong and true to race pace for the duration (and if you have ever run the Air Force Marathon, you are familiar with the nice two climbs after mile 21. That race is def not an easy finish). There is no way in HELL I was going to allow her to go down with me. That would have been selfish and unfair of me.
So Suttan, thank you SO MUCH for being such a sweet and funny soul. We are sure to have other races that will be super fun and awesome. I am learning to realize they won't all be that way, but many of them will be.
As for the future? I am sticking to what I wrote many months ago. This was my last marathon where I go into it with BQ as a goal. I am not changing my mind about that. Is that quitting or giving up? I don't think so. My mother was talking a couple of weeks ago about aging gracefully and learning to accept the things that you can't change and being ok with them. I mean REALLY being ok with them. That being able to say "I am not able to do this and that is ok" is letting go of the need to fight internally all the time. I loved that. This is not saying I am not able to qualify or can't run fast enough to qualify. I can. I am capable of that time. But I do know that no matter the months and years spent trying to work on a strong racing mind, racing marathons for a BQ will always yield negative anxiety and that will work against me every time. Probably more so with each failed attempt. So to continue the process of attempting and falling short and feeling bad is just not good for me and ruins the joy of running. I will still run marathons and I will still run them as fast as I can based on how I am feeling
that day. But they will always be fun from now on.
I know many people don't get it. It seems really so silly and dumb that I allow this to take over when the physical capability is there. It will never make sense to a mentally strong marathon racer. But perhaps looking at it in the context of this might help. Think of your greatest weakness and trying to overcome it. Maybe it's how you judge or view other people. Maybe it's the habit of yelling at your kids. And you hate it and you want to change it. And to the calm, peaceful mom or dad it simply makes no sense why you can't just stop. But to you, it's the hardest thing and you are a continual work in progress. You are constantly trying and trying, yet constantly falling short (oh gee, that describes me again!). This is the best comparison I can make. The difference is that with children, you can never stop trying to be a better parent. With marathoning, you can stop beating yourself up for having such a "character flaw". And so that is what I am choosing to do... accepting how I approach a BQ is something I don't want to work at changing anymore. I've made huge advances in mental strength in regard to running over the past 4 years. And quite frankly, I am at peace with exactly where I am.
Time will tell where it gets me.
The good news is I am not injured and nothing catastrophic came from me running the full marathon. That is huge. Nothing worse than missing the mark and then coming away with a full blown injury that has you out for 4 months. I am surprisingly not nearly as sore as I figured I would be from practically using my muscles as a fuel source for part of that race. This is good and bad. Good because I feel like I simply just ran a hard long run and with just a few easy days I can continue prepping for the Marine Corp Marathon, which is in 6 weeks. Bad because it leaves questions of: Did I give up too early? Did it get harder than I expected and so mentally I shut the whole race down? Had I really pushed and tried I'd be so depleted and sore I couldn't get down stairs anyway but sideways for a few days. These are the mind tricks that come with reflecting on such an event. I will say that once I realized that I could not get my time, and by could not, I mean COULD NOT GET IT no matter how hard I pushed, I switched to "survival mode". By that I mean, in order for me not to walk off the course at around mile 17, where pushing was not getting me the splits I needed, I had to put myself in another place.... namely, the mental long/hard run place. I once again had to take the horrible feeling of defeat and regroup... or it would have been over. Regrouping meant just running through the discomfort the best way I could. I have done that countless times with long runs and so I knew if I switched my thinking, I could finish with a respectable time. That thinking probably saved me from crashing hard and crawling in with a time well over 4 hours had I tried to maintain marathon pace as long as I could. I was able to maintain a pace of about 9:15-9:30 min/miles with walks at every mile... sometimes 2 walks. I'm telling ya, walking saves your ASS when you have bitten it. The final mile I couldn't squeak out anything faster than a 10:06. I was getting super emotional as I dreaded crossing the mat and seeing John. He'd been tracking me and once again, had nearly the same amount of anxiety over this as I did. Last week, we were both so certain this was in the bag (as a matter of fact, I dreaded crossing the 35k mat, where he was going to see I was off pace. I actually considered going AROUND it!)
The beauty of the race, however, was shown through my sweet friend, Suttan, who I ran the race with. We were aiming for the same time goal. Suttan's qualifying time is a 3:55, but her PR was a 3:48. Her goal was a PR, thus the perfect running/race partner since our time goals were similar. We'd done many training runs together and were in agreement to the race strategy. I am lucky she even wanted to race with me since I told her not to talk to me, look at me or think about me (I get nasty when I don't feel good... I wanted to prepare her:) She pretty much said "No problem, I'll ignore your nasty self, but we will keep each other on pace." It was a fool-proof plan. We agreed that if the other fell off pace, we would just continue racing and not go down with that person. Suttan has had her share of injuries like I have. The last marathon she was able to race was the 2010 Air Force, where she got her then PR. After that, she battled problems with her achilles and calf that made it very hard for her to be ready to race anything. She and I were both healthy and ready for this. We really didn't believe either of us would have a problem.
When I told Suttan at mile 16 or 17 that I needed to switch things up because I was feeling bad, she slowed down. "I'm going to stay with you", she said. I replied, "No way! Please don't, Suttan. You are running strong and able to get your time." I continued to tell her I was fine and I really would be ok. That I could not longer run at pace and I needed to break the race down bit by bit. And so Suttan picked it up again, per my request.
Here is the thing, although we had agreed to go for our time, Suttan was willing to stay with me. To have trained so hard and so cautiously and to be in such prime shape for the race of her life and to offer to stay with me, and mean it, was a glimpse of an incredible kind and giving heart. Suttan wasn't bullshitting... she would have stayed if I asked her to. In fact, the mile she did stay with me, I believe put her just enough off pace to NOT get that 3:44:59 she wanted. Evidenced by her 3:46 finish, she stayed strong and true to race pace for the duration (and if you have ever run the Air Force Marathon, you are familiar with the nice two climbs after mile 21. That race is def not an easy finish). There is no way in HELL I was going to allow her to go down with me. That would have been selfish and unfair of me.
So Suttan, thank you SO MUCH for being such a sweet and funny soul. We are sure to have other races that will be super fun and awesome. I am learning to realize they won't all be that way, but many of them will be.
As for the future? I am sticking to what I wrote many months ago. This was my last marathon where I go into it with BQ as a goal. I am not changing my mind about that. Is that quitting or giving up? I don't think so. My mother was talking a couple of weeks ago about aging gracefully and learning to accept the things that you can't change and being ok with them. I mean REALLY being ok with them. That being able to say "I am not able to do this and that is ok" is letting go of the need to fight internally all the time. I loved that. This is not saying I am not able to qualify or can't run fast enough to qualify. I can. I am capable of that time. But I do know that no matter the months and years spent trying to work on a strong racing mind, racing marathons for a BQ will always yield negative anxiety and that will work against me every time. Probably more so with each failed attempt. So to continue the process of attempting and falling short and feeling bad is just not good for me and ruins the joy of running. I will still run marathons and I will still run them as fast as I can based on how I am feeling
that day. But they will always be fun from now on.
I know many people don't get it. It seems really so silly and dumb that I allow this to take over when the physical capability is there. It will never make sense to a mentally strong marathon racer. But perhaps looking at it in the context of this might help. Think of your greatest weakness and trying to overcome it. Maybe it's how you judge or view other people. Maybe it's the habit of yelling at your kids. And you hate it and you want to change it. And to the calm, peaceful mom or dad it simply makes no sense why you can't just stop. But to you, it's the hardest thing and you are a continual work in progress. You are constantly trying and trying, yet constantly falling short (oh gee, that describes me again!). This is the best comparison I can make. The difference is that with children, you can never stop trying to be a better parent. With marathoning, you can stop beating yourself up for having such a "character flaw". And so that is what I am choosing to do... accepting how I approach a BQ is something I don't want to work at changing anymore. I've made huge advances in mental strength in regard to running over the past 4 years. And quite frankly, I am at peace with exactly where I am.
Time will tell where it gets me.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Ready or NOT!
This is not a post about running. It is not about pacing or racing or PRs or anything of the sort. Well not really.
This is a post about my youngest daughter, Lucy. I have written about Will, Emma and occasionally about Jack. Seldom do I bring up Lucy. As the days of summer come to a close, I find myself dealing with a bit of anxiety over Lucy's starting of all day, everyday kindergarten.
I'll be honest... the thought of 5 days a week to myself is mighty appealing. Preschool is nothing more than a pain in the butt. No sooner do you drop your child off at preschool and come home to clean up the breakfast dishes or go for a run and it's time to jump back in the car and pick her up again. Some days I'd have rather kept her home. Kindergarten will be different. She will go to school with the big kids and come home with the big kids. It's what I've been waiting for and dreaming about for the many years I've had small children home for most of the day. I've had thoughts of all the things I'd do to fill my time, and the ideas are endless. Returning to work is one of them. I can go for long runs and not worry about the time. I can start a project at home and not be interrupted 50 million times before deciding to just not do it at all. I can go from the kitchen to my bedroom without a needy 5 year old yelling "MOMMY... WAIT FOR MEEEE!" I can spend Fridays with just John, who has the day off... a tiny glimpse of what life will eventually be like as empty nesters. I am so ready for this. Or so I thought.
Lucy had orientation for kindergarten last week. I took her to her classroom, listened to the plan for the school year by her teacher and then was to leave her with her class so that the teacher could have just the kids... begin to get to know them, tell them the routine, show them where the bathroom is, ect.. Lucy was a bit nervous that morning. She was very clingy and kept saying "You'll be in the hallway, right mommy? You won't leave, will you Mom? Be RIGHT outside, ok, Mommy?" I watched her closely as her eyes darted all over the room, as if she were searching for something familiar, warm and comforting. But everything to her was new and I quickly realized, very big and very scary. Suddenly it hit me that her feelings of fear are no different from that of an adult's feelings of fear. The difference is how we as adults PERCEIVE our children's fears. We know they will be fine and we know everything will be ok and so we sometimes get annoyed with their reaction to something that scares them. They do not know it. They are entering unfamiliar territory. They are leaving the security of home and mom and baby-hood and that, my friends, must be the most terrifying thing in the world.
I reassured Lucy that I would be close. She gripped my neck and buried her head so that no one would see her cry. I felt her little body shaking and I had to compose myself a bit as this realization of her anxiety was hitting me hard. I wanted her to know that I understood what it was like to be scared. How often have things terrified me? Things as simple as standing on the starting line of a race because I don't know what will happen and things as big as thinking Will was hit by a car 3 years ago when I heard the crunch of a bicycle from a passing car outside my window. I know fear and I know it well and at all costs I want to protect my children from it. I imagine this is what God feels like when we are scared of something. He KNOWS things will be ok and wants us to know that. He doesn't want us to feel anxious about anything, but just to simply trust and follow the plan. How much I need to remember that!
I stood up and left Lucy at her desk. Emma was with me, but stayed close to her sister. I saw Emma crouch down and sweetly try to console her scared little sister. I remember doing that with my younger sisters a couple of times. What a beautiful thing for a mother to see!
I went to the cafeteria and waited for Lucy as promised. I barely heard a word of the principal or PTC president. All I could do was think of Lucy and hope she was ok. I knew she was in the hands of a wonderful and kind teacher. I just didn't know if she was still upset.
This is a post about my youngest daughter, Lucy. I have written about Will, Emma and occasionally about Jack. Seldom do I bring up Lucy. As the days of summer come to a close, I find myself dealing with a bit of anxiety over Lucy's starting of all day, everyday kindergarten.
I'll be honest... the thought of 5 days a week to myself is mighty appealing. Preschool is nothing more than a pain in the butt. No sooner do you drop your child off at preschool and come home to clean up the breakfast dishes or go for a run and it's time to jump back in the car and pick her up again. Some days I'd have rather kept her home. Kindergarten will be different. She will go to school with the big kids and come home with the big kids. It's what I've been waiting for and dreaming about for the many years I've had small children home for most of the day. I've had thoughts of all the things I'd do to fill my time, and the ideas are endless. Returning to work is one of them. I can go for long runs and not worry about the time. I can start a project at home and not be interrupted 50 million times before deciding to just not do it at all. I can go from the kitchen to my bedroom without a needy 5 year old yelling "MOMMY... WAIT FOR MEEEE!" I can spend Fridays with just John, who has the day off... a tiny glimpse of what life will eventually be like as empty nesters. I am so ready for this. Or so I thought.
Lucy had orientation for kindergarten last week. I took her to her classroom, listened to the plan for the school year by her teacher and then was to leave her with her class so that the teacher could have just the kids... begin to get to know them, tell them the routine, show them where the bathroom is, ect.. Lucy was a bit nervous that morning. She was very clingy and kept saying "You'll be in the hallway, right mommy? You won't leave, will you Mom? Be RIGHT outside, ok, Mommy?" I watched her closely as her eyes darted all over the room, as if she were searching for something familiar, warm and comforting. But everything to her was new and I quickly realized, very big and very scary. Suddenly it hit me that her feelings of fear are no different from that of an adult's feelings of fear. The difference is how we as adults PERCEIVE our children's fears. We know they will be fine and we know everything will be ok and so we sometimes get annoyed with their reaction to something that scares them. They do not know it. They are entering unfamiliar territory. They are leaving the security of home and mom and baby-hood and that, my friends, must be the most terrifying thing in the world.
I reassured Lucy that I would be close. She gripped my neck and buried her head so that no one would see her cry. I felt her little body shaking and I had to compose myself a bit as this realization of her anxiety was hitting me hard. I wanted her to know that I understood what it was like to be scared. How often have things terrified me? Things as simple as standing on the starting line of a race because I don't know what will happen and things as big as thinking Will was hit by a car 3 years ago when I heard the crunch of a bicycle from a passing car outside my window. I know fear and I know it well and at all costs I want to protect my children from it. I imagine this is what God feels like when we are scared of something. He KNOWS things will be ok and wants us to know that. He doesn't want us to feel anxious about anything, but just to simply trust and follow the plan. How much I need to remember that!
 |
| Emma consoles Lucy |
 |
| Please don't go, mom! |
Thirty minutes later I got to see a smiling and happy little girl bouncing down the hallway in line with her new classmates heading to the bathroom. She beamed as she passed me and I whispered "Thank you, God." Lucy was going to be just fine.
I needed that experience for many reasons. I needed it to be more compassionate about my children's fears. I needed it to realize that when I am afraid, God is reminding me that everything really is going to be ok, like I was telling Lucy. I needed it to realize I am not a heartless mother who just can't wait for the kids to be gone so that I can spend my days without them. In contrast, I think Thursday is going to be very difficult for me. The way I feel right now, I have no qualms about bumping her down to 3 day kindergarten instead of 5 so that I can hang on just a smidge longer.
So parents, whether it's kindergarten, jr. high, high school or college. Whether it's a new school or a new adventure in your child's life... be kind to them if they are scared. Their fear is very real and very big.
 |
| I love kindergarten, mommy! |
And now I must go run :)
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Five weeks and counting
Come Saturday, there are five more weeks until the Air Force Marathon. Even typing that makes my heart race just a little bit. I should be out doing an easy run right now and counting up the weeks and realizing just how close it is makes it hard to sit here. But I know that is for the best. I am taking an interval class today and I'm slightly tired and I really have figured out that sometimes it's best to scrap a run than to do the run. We are running two very long runs in one week and I need to be careful, especially so close to the race. It is with baited breath that I say I am healthy. Nothing hurts, my calves are cooperative and I feel well trained and strong. True I've had some runs that make me think I suck, but I've been doing this dog and pony show long enough to respect what the awful feeling training runs are telling me.
It has been nearly two years since I've raced a marathon. I realize that strategy will bring me to my goal. The average pace I need for this race is achievable for me. I know this based on many things, but how I go out and execute it will decide whether I get it or not. The goal is for me to stick to my race plan. Don't let the start line suddenly make me stupid as it has so often done before. Don't let the official pacer with my needed time play any role whatsoever in how I run. His race strategy could be far different from mine.
I already know that if the forecast calls for a high of over 85 degrees that day, I will not race. I will run it at long run pace and race the Indianapolis Marathon 4 weeks later, which would put me to Boston 2014 instead of 2013. No biggie... it'll be there.
I know that if I indeed am racing Air Force, I will arrive with a strong and determined mind and nervous as HELL! I will not say "we'll see..." or "I'm just not sure I'm feeling it today..." or "this and that is bothering me...." Even if any of that is true, no one wants to hear it and I don't' want to hear it from myself. Last week I was telling Suttan that I read a funny article in Marathon and Beyond about a guy's recap of an ultra he'd done. He said that "perfect weather" is the worst thing for an ultra runner because they can't use it as an excuse for a slow time. He began to jokingly poke fun of the starting line list of excuses (he included himself in this group).... "I'm just using this as a training run...." was the most common verbalization. Then from somewhere in the back of the crowd you may hear "Yeah, doctor said it turns out I have no bones in my left leg. He said to go slow and make sure I take plenty of "S" caps." Not to be outdone by that, you then hear "Well my doctor said that my kidney should be available any day. He said to go extra slow and double up on the "S" caps." I was trying to read this to John and was laughing so hard I could hardly get the words out. What made it funny is that we all do it (maybe not the no bones or kidney transplant excuse, but still). We protect our precious pride early on from the critiquing of others and from ourselves. Not that there aren't any perfectly good reasons why we sometimes do terribly in a race. Weather IS a factor. So is making sure you are running injury free. Of course those things play a big role. So do pacing, fueling and many, many other things. So I am trying to get these things ironed out BEFORE I get there... ok, I can't iron out the weather, but I have a plan for hot weather :)
If I don't get my time goal, I'll be disappointed. I won't, however, be crushed. Knowing that may be the difference in how I approach the start. Previously, I was heartbroken, but I will not be this time. I don't want condolences at the finish line or well intended apologies on my Facebook page, because I won't need them.
Finally, I read something that I think about often and it makes me feel really good about the upcoming marathon. For anyone unsure of a goal they have set for themselves, this is good to read:
"Is there any satisfaction in reaching a goal that is easy? Goals should be a little bit scary. That small bit of fear will be what makes you work hard and train well." Jeff Galloway
It has been nearly two years since I've raced a marathon. I realize that strategy will bring me to my goal. The average pace I need for this race is achievable for me. I know this based on many things, but how I go out and execute it will decide whether I get it or not. The goal is for me to stick to my race plan. Don't let the start line suddenly make me stupid as it has so often done before. Don't let the official pacer with my needed time play any role whatsoever in how I run. His race strategy could be far different from mine.
I already know that if the forecast calls for a high of over 85 degrees that day, I will not race. I will run it at long run pace and race the Indianapolis Marathon 4 weeks later, which would put me to Boston 2014 instead of 2013. No biggie... it'll be there.
I know that if I indeed am racing Air Force, I will arrive with a strong and determined mind and nervous as HELL! I will not say "we'll see..." or "I'm just not sure I'm feeling it today..." or "this and that is bothering me...." Even if any of that is true, no one wants to hear it and I don't' want to hear it from myself. Last week I was telling Suttan that I read a funny article in Marathon and Beyond about a guy's recap of an ultra he'd done. He said that "perfect weather" is the worst thing for an ultra runner because they can't use it as an excuse for a slow time. He began to jokingly poke fun of the starting line list of excuses (he included himself in this group).... "I'm just using this as a training run...." was the most common verbalization. Then from somewhere in the back of the crowd you may hear "Yeah, doctor said it turns out I have no bones in my left leg. He said to go slow and make sure I take plenty of "S" caps." Not to be outdone by that, you then hear "Well my doctor said that my kidney should be available any day. He said to go extra slow and double up on the "S" caps." I was trying to read this to John and was laughing so hard I could hardly get the words out. What made it funny is that we all do it (maybe not the no bones or kidney transplant excuse, but still). We protect our precious pride early on from the critiquing of others and from ourselves. Not that there aren't any perfectly good reasons why we sometimes do terribly in a race. Weather IS a factor. So is making sure you are running injury free. Of course those things play a big role. So do pacing, fueling and many, many other things. So I am trying to get these things ironed out BEFORE I get there... ok, I can't iron out the weather, but I have a plan for hot weather :)
If I don't get my time goal, I'll be disappointed. I won't, however, be crushed. Knowing that may be the difference in how I approach the start. Previously, I was heartbroken, but I will not be this time. I don't want condolences at the finish line or well intended apologies on my Facebook page, because I won't need them.
Finally, I read something that I think about often and it makes me feel really good about the upcoming marathon. For anyone unsure of a goal they have set for themselves, this is good to read:
"Is there any satisfaction in reaching a goal that is easy? Goals should be a little bit scary. That small bit of fear will be what makes you work hard and train well." Jeff Galloway
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