On Monday morning I sat down and wrote a long post about Sunday's 20 mile run and how my knee was hurting but my calf was ok. As I started writing, a 43 year old mother was struck by a car and killed instantly about 3 miles from my house. Obviously I didn't know it was happening. As I finished typing I got a text from my friend Nancy asking if I knew who in our circle of runners was running that morning because a pedestrian had been stuck and killed on Harrison Avenue. A feeling of immediate panic came over me as I went over the list in my head of the runners I know. There were two I worried about more than any as I thought of the possibility of who would run alone along that route. Every time I dismissed the thought... "No, she'd never run that route alone...", it was replaced with "Well maybe she did today."
Several texts and one anxious husband later (sorry Keith), it was confirmed that everyone was safe. I did not believe it was anyone I knew.
Hours later the news revealed the name of 43 year old Melissa Meyer, who while walking to work, collapsed from a previous medical condition and lay unseen by the driver who ran over her. My heart felt sad as I stopped to say a prayer for her and her family.
When John came home from work last night he said he saw a car stopped at the accident seen and saw someone place flowers on the guardrail. How sweet! After dinner Will asked me if we could run the trails at the park. Not really wanting to, as night is not my energetic time, I agreed as I thought of what a rare thing it was for him to ask.
I decided to enter the park on Harrison, so I could see where the woman was hit. As I drove toward the scene, the sight of the flowers on the guardrail and the sign brought a flood of emotion I did not expect. No, I did not lose someone I knew and cared about, but someone was grieving terribly for the loss of their mother. There are lives shattered by this woman's unforeseen death. For someone, the shining, beautiful day was a mockery of their devastation. The world LOOKS perfect in Harrison, but for Melissa's family, it was anything but. I also thought of the poor, poor man who hit Melissa. His life is forever changed and haunted.
Will and I said a prayer together. We asked God to bring peace and healing to her family and to the man who hit her. I hope so much they are finding a little.
RIP, Melissa.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Today marks the beginning of the holiest of days ahead. It is Holy Thursday, a day christians reflect on the things Christ did as he prepared for his death on the cross. It is a solemn day in the christian community. Or it should be. I say this as I pack my family for a vacation that involves heading to the beach. I have filled my days with busy-ness this week... laundry, errands, cleaning. I have tried to reflect on the meaning of Lenten season, but have had a really hard time focusing on the significance of it all. I have spent the past two weeks fighting feelings of anxiety over not being able to run the miles needed as I wrap up training for the Pig. That has become the constant thought in the back (ok, fine... front) of my mind. Not the anxiety of Jesus as he was well aware of what was waiting for him. My morning prayers usually consist of asking for complete release of this tight and cramped up muscle in my right leg, rather than asking for patience and complete trust that things will work out the way they are meant to. I need to be reminded that they always do, whether I see it or not. As I entered Lent, the focus of my prayers was Christ and the humble gratitude I felt for what he did. As Lent wraps up, the shift has gone to Kate and the fact that she is not running like she wants to be. It is not something I'm proud of myself for, but it is something I recognize and that recognition is by no means coincidence. In a flurry of days where my prayers stemmed from frustration, there was the awareness that I was not focusing on the right things. At one point, I quieted my mind and asked God to help change that. I was sincere and unhurried and totally present during that time. What a timely morning for God to answer me.
May you focus on the importance of the season. Run with gratitude. Run with humility.
Have a blessed Easter.
May you focus on the importance of the season. Run with gratitude. Run with humility.
Have a blessed Easter.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Pot Stirrer
I belong to this group on Facebook called "Facebook Runners." Yesterday a gentleman posted his excitement over the fact that next month he will be running his very first marathon... The Boston Marathon. My eyebrows raised as I saw that he had 71 comments because I KNEW there would be a battle. And so I looked.
The third comment was from a man who wrote "Good luck at Boston. You have already been lucky enough to get in without having to qualify. Enough said on that subject." YEAH RIGHT! Enough said? Are you kidding me? Instantly (I could tell by the time the comments were posted), everybody and their brother weighed in on Frank's (the commentator) comment. Some were in support, some were appalled that he would write that. I learned quickly from Marvin, the guy who's status it was, that he was indeed running for charity after losing 150 pounds and raising $5000.00. Back and forth the battle went. I could see the point of both sides... those that got shut out of the marathon who did qualify and those that were in complete support of Marvin. I wanted to comment, but quite truthfully, I wasn't sure how. Until now. Here is how I feel about those that run Boston for charity.
First of all, I learned that charity spots do not replace or reduce the number from the general field. If there were no charity spots, Boston would not increase their general field size. I learned this from one of the people who commented. My thought is this, if that is the case, why would it bother anyone if someone ran the Boston Marathon for charity? And maybe I stick my neck out on the line by saying this too... even if it does replace general field numbers, who cares? Now I realize that it's easy for me to say this as I have not qualified for Boston and have never applied and been shut out. My friend Jen has and I know it was very hard for her. Two years earlier and she would have been in. It seems very unfair and I sure as hell wouldn't have taken it well. I was offered a charity position through Livestrong by my friend Molly for the 2011 Boston Marathon and declined. Not because I thought running Boston for charity was wrong, but because I wanted to run it as a qualifier. That was a matter of what I wanted for myself.
People who get mad at those who run Boston for charity are assholes. I'm sorry if this puts any reader in that category, but come on. We have become a nation with such a sense of entitlement that we can't even see the good in those that have worked their ass off to raise money for a cause. No, we are angry because after all, we trained and busted our asses and someone took our spot. Well I loved my brother's comment on Marvin's status when he wrote "Marvin, enjoy every minute of Boston. More people have qualified for Boston than have lost 150 pounds!" AMEN! I can't even really shake the winter 5 lbs I put on. Forget 150! People have become so angry, so selfish that it kills them to step out of themselves when they feel slighted. I know some people who are the most dedicated, hard working, ass busting, committed runners that will never be fast enough to qualify for Boston. And I happen to know of someone who qualified for Boston in their very first marathon run. I commend the natural athlete in that person. To have raw talent like that is a gift and I would hope that he would see it that way. I've got news for some of the people who posted negatively on Marvin's status... yes, you may have run Boston 20 times, qualifying over and over again. And you may believe that you are something special for this reason. But lets bring perspective into this... your marathon time may be a really bad time for someone better than you. Your time may have a better runner very upset over their performance if that's what they got. But it is YOUR best time and in it's natural right, should be applauded and celebrated. Same goes for those slower than you.
I don't know how this spring is going to shake out. If I qualify for Boston and get shut out, without a doubt, I will be disappointed. But I can guarantee that I will not be bitter or angry toward those who do get to run. Maybe seeing this post was supposed to get me to think about this and how I would react, not just in this situation, but it my running life in general. I am currently nursing some kind of calf/shin/lower leg pain that has not allowed me to run since last Sunday when I ran with Will. I have continued "training" the best I can on my elliptical and thankfully can get my bike out this week as well. I know full well the reason I am hurt and it could have been prevented. And I spent a good part of week angry at myself for screwing up flawless and careful training with the decision to run 13 miles the day after a 22 mile run. After all, I did this last fall and never had a problem. The difference is that last fall the paces I ran these back to back long runs were slower and I was always careful the day after a very long run not to push the pace. I didn't know Will would run as well he did (I should say I didn't expect him to run as well as he did) and really did believe the pace would not be a problem. My anger about my decision to run his pace spilled over (of course!) to blaming John for my current problem, which he swore he knew was coming :) I told him that I WOULD have backed off if I thought he wouldn't be upset with me for not staying with Will during his first big race. Truth is, I needed somewhere to direct my anger about what has taken place because looking at myself in an honest light is really, REALLY hard. John took it in stride as he figured he'd be to blame somehow. It isn't hard to figure out why I'm hurt. But would I change what I did? Had I not run with Will, I would have missed seeing my son in a light I've never seen before. I would have missed seeing how he worked through some major difficult moments and conquered them. Those moments on that course provided a rare peak into the workings of a very private boy's mind. I would not go back and do anything different. Well ok, maybe I would have run my 22 miler on Friday like I was going to, but that is besides the point. This is part of being a runner and I have been fortunate enough to run without issues and reach a major goal of mine last year. We will see how the spring goes. I was only able to run a mile yesterday and it produced more pain than I would have liked, but there are many weeks left and I get better each day.
And finally, as John told me yesterday, there are many more marathons to run and to pick from.
So Marvin, enjoy Boston! By all rights, you "deserve" to be there by your incredible dedication and will power proven by your ability to lose that amount of weight and raise money for a good cause (at least I hope it's a good cause!). And if I am back on here in September angrily ranting about being shut out of Boston because of stupid charity runners, kindly remind me of what an asshole I am being.
The third comment was from a man who wrote "Good luck at Boston. You have already been lucky enough to get in without having to qualify. Enough said on that subject." YEAH RIGHT! Enough said? Are you kidding me? Instantly (I could tell by the time the comments were posted), everybody and their brother weighed in on Frank's (the commentator) comment. Some were in support, some were appalled that he would write that. I learned quickly from Marvin, the guy who's status it was, that he was indeed running for charity after losing 150 pounds and raising $5000.00. Back and forth the battle went. I could see the point of both sides... those that got shut out of the marathon who did qualify and those that were in complete support of Marvin. I wanted to comment, but quite truthfully, I wasn't sure how. Until now. Here is how I feel about those that run Boston for charity.
First of all, I learned that charity spots do not replace or reduce the number from the general field. If there were no charity spots, Boston would not increase their general field size. I learned this from one of the people who commented. My thought is this, if that is the case, why would it bother anyone if someone ran the Boston Marathon for charity? And maybe I stick my neck out on the line by saying this too... even if it does replace general field numbers, who cares? Now I realize that it's easy for me to say this as I have not qualified for Boston and have never applied and been shut out. My friend Jen has and I know it was very hard for her. Two years earlier and she would have been in. It seems very unfair and I sure as hell wouldn't have taken it well. I was offered a charity position through Livestrong by my friend Molly for the 2011 Boston Marathon and declined. Not because I thought running Boston for charity was wrong, but because I wanted to run it as a qualifier. That was a matter of what I wanted for myself.
People who get mad at those who run Boston for charity are assholes. I'm sorry if this puts any reader in that category, but come on. We have become a nation with such a sense of entitlement that we can't even see the good in those that have worked their ass off to raise money for a cause. No, we are angry because after all, we trained and busted our asses and someone took our spot. Well I loved my brother's comment on Marvin's status when he wrote "Marvin, enjoy every minute of Boston. More people have qualified for Boston than have lost 150 pounds!" AMEN! I can't even really shake the winter 5 lbs I put on. Forget 150! People have become so angry, so selfish that it kills them to step out of themselves when they feel slighted. I know some people who are the most dedicated, hard working, ass busting, committed runners that will never be fast enough to qualify for Boston. And I happen to know of someone who qualified for Boston in their very first marathon run. I commend the natural athlete in that person. To have raw talent like that is a gift and I would hope that he would see it that way. I've got news for some of the people who posted negatively on Marvin's status... yes, you may have run Boston 20 times, qualifying over and over again. And you may believe that you are something special for this reason. But lets bring perspective into this... your marathon time may be a really bad time for someone better than you. Your time may have a better runner very upset over their performance if that's what they got. But it is YOUR best time and in it's natural right, should be applauded and celebrated. Same goes for those slower than you.
I don't know how this spring is going to shake out. If I qualify for Boston and get shut out, without a doubt, I will be disappointed. But I can guarantee that I will not be bitter or angry toward those who do get to run. Maybe seeing this post was supposed to get me to think about this and how I would react, not just in this situation, but it my running life in general. I am currently nursing some kind of calf/shin/lower leg pain that has not allowed me to run since last Sunday when I ran with Will. I have continued "training" the best I can on my elliptical and thankfully can get my bike out this week as well. I know full well the reason I am hurt and it could have been prevented. And I spent a good part of week angry at myself for screwing up flawless and careful training with the decision to run 13 miles the day after a 22 mile run. After all, I did this last fall and never had a problem. The difference is that last fall the paces I ran these back to back long runs were slower and I was always careful the day after a very long run not to push the pace. I didn't know Will would run as well he did (I should say I didn't expect him to run as well as he did) and really did believe the pace would not be a problem. My anger about my decision to run his pace spilled over (of course!) to blaming John for my current problem, which he swore he knew was coming :) I told him that I WOULD have backed off if I thought he wouldn't be upset with me for not staying with Will during his first big race. Truth is, I needed somewhere to direct my anger about what has taken place because looking at myself in an honest light is really, REALLY hard. John took it in stride as he figured he'd be to blame somehow. It isn't hard to figure out why I'm hurt. But would I change what I did? Had I not run with Will, I would have missed seeing my son in a light I've never seen before. I would have missed seeing how he worked through some major difficult moments and conquered them. Those moments on that course provided a rare peak into the workings of a very private boy's mind. I would not go back and do anything different. Well ok, maybe I would have run my 22 miler on Friday like I was going to, but that is besides the point. This is part of being a runner and I have been fortunate enough to run without issues and reach a major goal of mine last year. We will see how the spring goes. I was only able to run a mile yesterday and it produced more pain than I would have liked, but there are many weeks left and I get better each day.
And finally, as John told me yesterday, there are many more marathons to run and to pick from.
So Marvin, enjoy Boston! By all rights, you "deserve" to be there by your incredible dedication and will power proven by your ability to lose that amount of weight and raise money for a good cause (at least I hope it's a good cause!). And if I am back on here in September angrily ranting about being shut out of Boston because of stupid charity runners, kindly remind me of what an asshole I am being.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Grin :)
"Are you ok? Do you need to walk? We can walk now and just run through the six mile mark at the top of the hill." I talked quickly as I could see he was struggling to get up Torrence Avenue. "MOM!!! I'm fine." I could tell I was getting on his nerves. Again.
It isn't because it was running that I feel this way. It could have been anything in the world that he set out to do. Watching him execute his plan (with the help of a chatty annoying pacer and his real running coach, his dad) so perfectly, so maturely, so full of perseverance, struggle, sweat and guts was hands down the proudest moment to date for me, his mother. Much to my sheer blissful joy, it DID happen to be running. That's the icing.
I've written about him before. Will did not like to run. As a matter of fact, if he didn't really have to move at all, he was ok with it. His parents were not. He's played soccer for years, which is obviously a sport that requires continual running. But I think it's more because he enjoys the actual game. I won't say he loves, but for sure, enjoys it. So back in early October when John told me he was going to train Will to run the Mini Heart half marathon, my initial response was "Good luck with that." When I realized he was serious, and Will was on board, I still wasn't overly excited as I figured this would soon get very old and as the winter freeze set in, so would the honeymoon of completing his long runs be over.
Will wanted a paintball gun. They are expensive and a stupid waste of money, in my opinion. Where would he even use the thing? I didn't know many, if any of his friends that owned them. John told Will that if he completed the half marathon, he would buy him a paintball gun. I went along with it completely confident that his wish would not come to fruition.
And so they began to train, starting with a 3 mile long run. I should say to begin with, Emma trained with them, as she too, thought she'd like to run the half marathon. Her dangling carrot was getting her ears double pierced. Although she was strong and did well on the runs, she constantly complained whenever she had to run and finally just opted not to do it. We told them both that this was their choice and they would never be forced to run. But they would not be allowed to participate in the half marathon untrained. We would not go for them killing themselves for one day to get what they wanted without proper training. As any runner that has seriously trained for an event knows, the training gets the credit, not so much the race. The race reflects the training (unless you have a completely bad day... that happens) but the training is what takes character and dedication. I assumed my thirteen year old son did not have the kind of dedication to go through with something that he really doesn't enjoy.
Several weeks into their training, I decided that maybe I should check out how safe it was for a growing adolescent to run distance. After all, runners suffer from a myriad of aches pains and problems attributed to running. To put that kind of stress on rapidly growing bones and changing hormones had to be a bit risky I figured. Even though I was still pretty sure he'd not go through with it once the long runs got past 7 miles or so, I began to look some things up on the internet and finally just asked his pediatrician what she thought about the idea. She knew I was a runner and I told her that his dad was also a runner now. Her very practical approach was just to watch him carefully for signs of burnout or pain. The knees would likely be the target area if he developed a problem. She said that she was confident he would be trained well since he had parents who would be diligently watching and knew what to watch for (*blush*). She then said "That's fantastic. Good for him!"
So week after week, the boys ran on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Will had begun his basketball season and was practicing on Monday and Friday. Every weekend when the long run came around, Will grabbed his music, filled his bottles with Gatorade, usually made some "Oh brother... can't we do this later?" kind of comment, and took off with John. Many times he actually whined about it. There were some Sundays that I remember John saying "Buddy, you do not have to do this. Just say the word and we will stop training. I am not going to drag you out here." I would usually interject with "Come on, Will, this is FUN! Don't you feel great after a long run? Don't you feel accomplished?" Sometimes he would say "No, I just feel sore." But I knew he was happy every time he chose to go. He'd come back and be very chatty about how the run went. He'd tell me how he felt at different times. How he thought he wasn't going to be able to make it through but then a good song would come on and he would feel better. And each time, I know he was astounded at the distance he'd just run. I learned that during a long run, they would say a prayer after each mile. What an awesome thing for me to hear as I know that on some long runs, it's God alone that gets me to complete it. It began to make sense to me why he continued and why he stuck with it. It wasn't me and it wasn't really John. It was God guiding this boy week after week, long run after long run, helping him do something that would give him the confidence he so desperately needed as he entered his teenage years. To think it was his parents would be a selfish thing. Trust me, we set the example of picking up our things and cleaning quite a bit and it simply doesn't work. Only Divine intervention could get Will Rewwer to willfully run for a long time.
On race day, I woke Will up early. I wanted him to eat breakfast two hours before the start. I had him eat two mini bagels with peanut butter and drink some water. I told him that ten minutes before the start, he should drink Gatorade or take some of his gel bites. He seemed pretty relaxed and free from nerves though he said he was a little nervous. I think was more nervous than he was.
On the way to the race, we stopped at Starbucks so that John and I could get coffee. Will asked for a "shot of espresso.." I replied with a "Hell no you are not going to try something new on race day...." rather than "Will you are thirteen and have no business drinking espresso..." I was now in coach/runner/racer mode. Not mom mode.
Once downtown, parked and at the start, we were ready to run! I "informed" the boys that I would set the pace for the first few miles. I knew that adrenaline and nerves would cause that knee jerk reaction of starting out way too fast. Given the course was a challenging one full of hills, which Will did not train on, I was hoping that our average pace would be under an eleven min/mile for the duration. They had usually done their long runs just under 10 minute miles. I reviewed John's Garmin and noticed that they always started out faster than they finished. I told them we would start out in the 10s and bring it down. I figured it would be the last 3 miles that slowed us considerably as Will's longest run to date had been 10.5 miles. I also knew those hills would play a hand in wearing him out and I thought if we can average a sub 11 minute pace, we would have done really well. But all along, I told Will the goal was to go the distance. To walk if he needed to, even if it wasn't a scheduled "walk break". The plan was to run the race the way they'd trained on the long run... run 1 mile then walk 1 minute. Mentally, he never had farther than a mile to run, he could get a quick recovery and start again.
The first couple of miles went off without a hitch. I did have to constantly remind him to slow down as he would get faster and faster when we'd start up after each walk break. I would tell him when to drink, when to eat and not to "zig-zag" because he was adding distance. I listened to his breathing to gauge how hard he was working. I continued to nag him about his pace and by mile 5, I just thought "Well, it's his race to blow. The kid's got to learn and after all this training, it's going to be a hard lesson for him." I decided just to follow his lead. I constantly asked him if he was ok and he constantly replied that he was fine. As suspected, Torrence was rough for him, but he flew down it. Once we made the right turn onto Columbia Parkway and immediately into another hill, he slowed down. John looked at me and said "We got him...", indicating that Will was now going to struggle after exhausting himself. My heart sank as we were not even at the halfway mark.
Mile after mile, the kid amazed me. Our splits stayed pretty even despite the hills. He seemed so tired but he kept the pace. His breathing was getting pretty labored, his face red and caked with salt and his form was suffering a bit. But his pace stayed even. At mile nine I could tell he was so tired. I suggested walking 30 seconds every half mile instead of 1 minute every mile. He liked that idea and mentally, it was easier to think of running just a half mile before a break. Like magic, it worked. Mile 10 he was asking for water. We had not come across an aid station in awhile and I didn't see one close either. I was very upset as I said out loud "WHERE IS AN AID STATION? He NEEDS a drink!!" No one on the course uttered a word at that point. The sun was out in full force and we were all pretty warm. I think we hit the aid station at mile 12 (gee, thanks Kentucky!). I looked at Will and said "Last mile buddy. You have done so awesome. Grammy and papa are waiting at the finish. Let's run strong." Then a damn hill. For God sakes, did they not know the kid was only THIRTEEN when they routed the course out? What is wrong with this race director. He is just sick.
Up the hill he went. Strong but oh so tired. Into the city and around the bend and there it was... the finish line banner waving ahead. "THERE IT IS WILL!" I was trying to motivate him and get him to run strong. God did he try, but he had given his all on this course. All he could do was maintain his current pace (which was pretty impressive still). John said "Go get it buddy!" To which Will snappishly replied "Dad, I AM!" John and I hung back and watched as our boy crossed the finish line. As I crossed I stopped my Garmin and checked out our overall average pace... my stats said 13.2 miles in 2:07:33, which gave us an average pace of 9:40 (official 13.1 in 2:07:36 with an avg pace of 9:45... I knew that race director was shady).
Will ran a beautiful race. Each 5k faster than the previous. He exceeded both mine and John's expectations of what he would do (not necessarily what he COULD do, as we always can do more than we believe we can). I am still in awe over his performance. Although I shouldn't be. That morning, before Will and John were awake, I said my morning prayers. I asked God to give Will the courage, confidence and strength it would take to complete this race.
I would say God answered my prayers... and then some. And I have not stopped grinning.
It isn't because it was running that I feel this way. It could have been anything in the world that he set out to do. Watching him execute his plan (with the help of a chatty annoying pacer and his real running coach, his dad) so perfectly, so maturely, so full of perseverance, struggle, sweat and guts was hands down the proudest moment to date for me, his mother. Much to my sheer blissful joy, it DID happen to be running. That's the icing.
I've written about him before. Will did not like to run. As a matter of fact, if he didn't really have to move at all, he was ok with it. His parents were not. He's played soccer for years, which is obviously a sport that requires continual running. But I think it's more because he enjoys the actual game. I won't say he loves, but for sure, enjoys it. So back in early October when John told me he was going to train Will to run the Mini Heart half marathon, my initial response was "Good luck with that." When I realized he was serious, and Will was on board, I still wasn't overly excited as I figured this would soon get very old and as the winter freeze set in, so would the honeymoon of completing his long runs be over.
Will wanted a paintball gun. They are expensive and a stupid waste of money, in my opinion. Where would he even use the thing? I didn't know many, if any of his friends that owned them. John told Will that if he completed the half marathon, he would buy him a paintball gun. I went along with it completely confident that his wish would not come to fruition.
And so they began to train, starting with a 3 mile long run. I should say to begin with, Emma trained with them, as she too, thought she'd like to run the half marathon. Her dangling carrot was getting her ears double pierced. Although she was strong and did well on the runs, she constantly complained whenever she had to run and finally just opted not to do it. We told them both that this was their choice and they would never be forced to run. But they would not be allowed to participate in the half marathon untrained. We would not go for them killing themselves for one day to get what they wanted without proper training. As any runner that has seriously trained for an event knows, the training gets the credit, not so much the race. The race reflects the training (unless you have a completely bad day... that happens) but the training is what takes character and dedication. I assumed my thirteen year old son did not have the kind of dedication to go through with something that he really doesn't enjoy.
Several weeks into their training, I decided that maybe I should check out how safe it was for a growing adolescent to run distance. After all, runners suffer from a myriad of aches pains and problems attributed to running. To put that kind of stress on rapidly growing bones and changing hormones had to be a bit risky I figured. Even though I was still pretty sure he'd not go through with it once the long runs got past 7 miles or so, I began to look some things up on the internet and finally just asked his pediatrician what she thought about the idea. She knew I was a runner and I told her that his dad was also a runner now. Her very practical approach was just to watch him carefully for signs of burnout or pain. The knees would likely be the target area if he developed a problem. She said that she was confident he would be trained well since he had parents who would be diligently watching and knew what to watch for (*blush*). She then said "That's fantastic. Good for him!"
So week after week, the boys ran on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Will had begun his basketball season and was practicing on Monday and Friday. Every weekend when the long run came around, Will grabbed his music, filled his bottles with Gatorade, usually made some "Oh brother... can't we do this later?" kind of comment, and took off with John. Many times he actually whined about it. There were some Sundays that I remember John saying "Buddy, you do not have to do this. Just say the word and we will stop training. I am not going to drag you out here." I would usually interject with "Come on, Will, this is FUN! Don't you feel great after a long run? Don't you feel accomplished?" Sometimes he would say "No, I just feel sore." But I knew he was happy every time he chose to go. He'd come back and be very chatty about how the run went. He'd tell me how he felt at different times. How he thought he wasn't going to be able to make it through but then a good song would come on and he would feel better. And each time, I know he was astounded at the distance he'd just run. I learned that during a long run, they would say a prayer after each mile. What an awesome thing for me to hear as I know that on some long runs, it's God alone that gets me to complete it. It began to make sense to me why he continued and why he stuck with it. It wasn't me and it wasn't really John. It was God guiding this boy week after week, long run after long run, helping him do something that would give him the confidence he so desperately needed as he entered his teenage years. To think it was his parents would be a selfish thing. Trust me, we set the example of picking up our things and cleaning quite a bit and it simply doesn't work. Only Divine intervention could get Will Rewwer to willfully run for a long time.
On race day, I woke Will up early. I wanted him to eat breakfast two hours before the start. I had him eat two mini bagels with peanut butter and drink some water. I told him that ten minutes before the start, he should drink Gatorade or take some of his gel bites. He seemed pretty relaxed and free from nerves though he said he was a little nervous. I think was more nervous than he was.
On the way to the race, we stopped at Starbucks so that John and I could get coffee. Will asked for a "shot of espresso.." I replied with a "Hell no you are not going to try something new on race day...." rather than "Will you are thirteen and have no business drinking espresso..." I was now in coach/runner/racer mode. Not mom mode.
Once downtown, parked and at the start, we were ready to run! I "informed" the boys that I would set the pace for the first few miles. I knew that adrenaline and nerves would cause that knee jerk reaction of starting out way too fast. Given the course was a challenging one full of hills, which Will did not train on, I was hoping that our average pace would be under an eleven min/mile for the duration. They had usually done their long runs just under 10 minute miles. I reviewed John's Garmin and noticed that they always started out faster than they finished. I told them we would start out in the 10s and bring it down. I figured it would be the last 3 miles that slowed us considerably as Will's longest run to date had been 10.5 miles. I also knew those hills would play a hand in wearing him out and I thought if we can average a sub 11 minute pace, we would have done really well. But all along, I told Will the goal was to go the distance. To walk if he needed to, even if it wasn't a scheduled "walk break". The plan was to run the race the way they'd trained on the long run... run 1 mile then walk 1 minute. Mentally, he never had farther than a mile to run, he could get a quick recovery and start again.
The first couple of miles went off without a hitch. I did have to constantly remind him to slow down as he would get faster and faster when we'd start up after each walk break. I would tell him when to drink, when to eat and not to "zig-zag" because he was adding distance. I listened to his breathing to gauge how hard he was working. I continued to nag him about his pace and by mile 5, I just thought "Well, it's his race to blow. The kid's got to learn and after all this training, it's going to be a hard lesson for him." I decided just to follow his lead. I constantly asked him if he was ok and he constantly replied that he was fine. As suspected, Torrence was rough for him, but he flew down it. Once we made the right turn onto Columbia Parkway and immediately into another hill, he slowed down. John looked at me and said "We got him...", indicating that Will was now going to struggle after exhausting himself. My heart sank as we were not even at the halfway mark.
Mile after mile, the kid amazed me. Our splits stayed pretty even despite the hills. He seemed so tired but he kept the pace. His breathing was getting pretty labored, his face red and caked with salt and his form was suffering a bit. But his pace stayed even. At mile nine I could tell he was so tired. I suggested walking 30 seconds every half mile instead of 1 minute every mile. He liked that idea and mentally, it was easier to think of running just a half mile before a break. Like magic, it worked. Mile 10 he was asking for water. We had not come across an aid station in awhile and I didn't see one close either. I was very upset as I said out loud "WHERE IS AN AID STATION? He NEEDS a drink!!" No one on the course uttered a word at that point. The sun was out in full force and we were all pretty warm. I think we hit the aid station at mile 12 (gee, thanks Kentucky!). I looked at Will and said "Last mile buddy. You have done so awesome. Grammy and papa are waiting at the finish. Let's run strong." Then a damn hill. For God sakes, did they not know the kid was only THIRTEEN when they routed the course out? What is wrong with this race director. He is just sick.
Up the hill he went. Strong but oh so tired. Into the city and around the bend and there it was... the finish line banner waving ahead. "THERE IT IS WILL!" I was trying to motivate him and get him to run strong. God did he try, but he had given his all on this course. All he could do was maintain his current pace (which was pretty impressive still). John said "Go get it buddy!" To which Will snappishly replied "Dad, I AM!" John and I hung back and watched as our boy crossed the finish line. As I crossed I stopped my Garmin and checked out our overall average pace... my stats said 13.2 miles in 2:07:33, which gave us an average pace of 9:40 (official 13.1 in 2:07:36 with an avg pace of 9:45... I knew that race director was shady).
Will ran a beautiful race. Each 5k faster than the previous. He exceeded both mine and John's expectations of what he would do (not necessarily what he COULD do, as we always can do more than we believe we can). I am still in awe over his performance. Although I shouldn't be. That morning, before Will and John were awake, I said my morning prayers. I asked God to give Will the courage, confidence and strength it would take to complete this race.
I would say God answered my prayers... and then some. And I have not stopped grinning.
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Expense of This Very "Cheap" Sport
Yesterday I was on the phone with Sarah when she had to go because the UPS truck was at her door with a delivery. Of course, I gave her shit about her love of on-line shopping and told her that she shops more than I do. I can't remember the last time I really shopped (besides Christmastime, but that doesn't count) and it's been a really long time since I had a UPS delivery for an on-line purchase. Not 2 hours later did I receive my e-mail confirmation for registering for the Air Force Marathon. And I really had to laugh at myself considering two weeks ago I got an e-mail confirmation for two entries into the Marine Corps Marathon. I suppose I had to eat my words to Sarah.
I hear this often... actually, I say this often, "Oh running is such a cheap sport. All you need are a pair of shoes, t-shirt and shorts and you can go out your front door. No gym membership fees needed." Every heard that? Ever said that? While it is true that the act of running is inexpensive, let's break down the cost of running in the Rewwer household (ok, I won't put a dollar amount because John may quit running and ask me to quit also).
I did a big shopping trip at Kroger on Wednesday. Right after the produce section, my cart automatically migrates to the "health food" section, although I am not sure why Powergels and Clif Shot Bloks are located in that section as they are pretty much nothing but sugar. I stopped in what I'll call the fuel section and grabbed handfuls of Zone bars, Luna bars and Clif bars. I also grabbed Power Gel packets, Clif Shot Bloks and Power Cola chewy things. I grabbed protein bars also. The average cost of each of these bars is a dollar. I grabbed at least 25 of the mentioned variety. Now while that seems like a lot for me, keep in mind that John is in marathon training also (makes me smile just to type that) and Will is currently doing a weekly long run in prep for Sunday's half marathon (makes me REALLY smile to type that). He doesn't need that type of fuel for shorter runs during the week, but a thirteen year old boy running anything over 10 miles gets whatever the heck he can stomach for those runs. It isn't like I can grab a bulk of whatever is on sale either. When doing a long run, you eat whatever works to make you feel good. And that is different for each of us. John prefers Shot Bloks (though I tell him he should like what I like), I like gels and real food like pretzels, clif bars, animal crackers, ect.., and Will likes those cola bursts by Powerbar. We all respond differently to different fuel types. Once you find what powers your long run, you stay with it.
After continuing through the store and filling my cart with real life food, I made it to the sports drink isle. Thankfully Powerade was on sale for .59 cents. Now while I prefer Gatorade any day over Powerade, I go with the cheapest when it comes to this because my stomach knows no difference... even though I really dislike drinking anything that is bright blue, red or dark purple (Gatorade makes Rain Berry flavor... the lightest possible color of sports drink and very good tasting).
I finished up my trip with a cart loaded full of food to feed a family of six PLUS everything needed to fuel long runs for awhile. It's never easy to see that total and think of what my bill would be without the running fuel.
Let's then move on to shoes. Well, there are lots of great running shoes out there at discounted prices. But of course, I have an affinity for the ones that are not discounted. Much like running fuel, when you find a shoe that you feel good running in and does not contribute to any sort of running injury or pain, you cling to it and sometimes that comes with a hefty price tag. I happen to like the Brooks Glycerin and the Brooks Pure Flow. The Glycerins are not cheap. But to be able to run many miles in a shoe that works well makes the cost justifiable. I have found that my shoes are best changed every 3 months right now. Four if my mileage is lower. There is also the gear that is cute, functional ($18.00 sweaty bands ARE functional... they just happen to be cute too) and needs to be replaced regularly. Oh yes, and my Garmin that is not even a year old will not hold a charge longer than one hour as of Tuesday. Nor did it archive my last 2 runs. And this is the truth... not a ploy to buy yet the newest Garmin out on the Market. I am hoping to get my current one replaced for free. See? Thrifty!
As I begin to really think about how much money I spend on my hobby (that has really become a necessity so is it really a hobby anymore?), I have to eat my words to Sarah and to anyone else I may think shops "too much". Without a doubt, one can look at what I spend to be a runner and make judgements about what a selfish and financially wasteful sport it is as well. Maybe they are right. But if they lived in my house during a time when I was not running for whatever reason in the past two years, they just may see fit to write a grant so that the federal government could intervene with funding to get me back on my feet again as quickly as possible. Just ask my husband.
I hear this often... actually, I say this often, "Oh running is such a cheap sport. All you need are a pair of shoes, t-shirt and shorts and you can go out your front door. No gym membership fees needed." Every heard that? Ever said that? While it is true that the act of running is inexpensive, let's break down the cost of running in the Rewwer household (ok, I won't put a dollar amount because John may quit running and ask me to quit also).
I did a big shopping trip at Kroger on Wednesday. Right after the produce section, my cart automatically migrates to the "health food" section, although I am not sure why Powergels and Clif Shot Bloks are located in that section as they are pretty much nothing but sugar. I stopped in what I'll call the fuel section and grabbed handfuls of Zone bars, Luna bars and Clif bars. I also grabbed Power Gel packets, Clif Shot Bloks and Power Cola chewy things. I grabbed protein bars also. The average cost of each of these bars is a dollar. I grabbed at least 25 of the mentioned variety. Now while that seems like a lot for me, keep in mind that John is in marathon training also (makes me smile just to type that) and Will is currently doing a weekly long run in prep for Sunday's half marathon (makes me REALLY smile to type that). He doesn't need that type of fuel for shorter runs during the week, but a thirteen year old boy running anything over 10 miles gets whatever the heck he can stomach for those runs. It isn't like I can grab a bulk of whatever is on sale either. When doing a long run, you eat whatever works to make you feel good. And that is different for each of us. John prefers Shot Bloks (though I tell him he should like what I like), I like gels and real food like pretzels, clif bars, animal crackers, ect.., and Will likes those cola bursts by Powerbar. We all respond differently to different fuel types. Once you find what powers your long run, you stay with it.
After continuing through the store and filling my cart with real life food, I made it to the sports drink isle. Thankfully Powerade was on sale for .59 cents. Now while I prefer Gatorade any day over Powerade, I go with the cheapest when it comes to this because my stomach knows no difference... even though I really dislike drinking anything that is bright blue, red or dark purple (Gatorade makes Rain Berry flavor... the lightest possible color of sports drink and very good tasting).
I finished up my trip with a cart loaded full of food to feed a family of six PLUS everything needed to fuel long runs for awhile. It's never easy to see that total and think of what my bill would be without the running fuel.
Let's then move on to shoes. Well, there are lots of great running shoes out there at discounted prices. But of course, I have an affinity for the ones that are not discounted. Much like running fuel, when you find a shoe that you feel good running in and does not contribute to any sort of running injury or pain, you cling to it and sometimes that comes with a hefty price tag. I happen to like the Brooks Glycerin and the Brooks Pure Flow. The Glycerins are not cheap. But to be able to run many miles in a shoe that works well makes the cost justifiable. I have found that my shoes are best changed every 3 months right now. Four if my mileage is lower. There is also the gear that is cute, functional ($18.00 sweaty bands ARE functional... they just happen to be cute too) and needs to be replaced regularly. Oh yes, and my Garmin that is not even a year old will not hold a charge longer than one hour as of Tuesday. Nor did it archive my last 2 runs. And this is the truth... not a ploy to buy yet the newest Garmin out on the Market. I am hoping to get my current one replaced for free. See? Thrifty!
As I begin to really think about how much money I spend on my hobby (that has really become a necessity so is it really a hobby anymore?), I have to eat my words to Sarah and to anyone else I may think shops "too much". Without a doubt, one can look at what I spend to be a runner and make judgements about what a selfish and financially wasteful sport it is as well. Maybe they are right. But if they lived in my house during a time when I was not running for whatever reason in the past two years, they just may see fit to write a grant so that the federal government could intervene with funding to get me back on my feet again as quickly as possible. Just ask my husband.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Links
Recently I was in a group setting in which I was required to stand up, give my name, spouse's name, children's name, occupation and hobbies (no, it was not for RAA.. Runner Addict Anonymous). When I got to my hobbies, I automatically spit out "Running. If I could do anything at all with a boat load of free time, I would run." I realize to non-runners, that sounds like insanity at it's peak. If you are not a runner, you will never get it. If you are a runner, it makes perfect sense.
What I neglected to also say is that I love to write and I love to read. There isn't just one topic or type of reading I like to do either. Sure I love reading about running, but I also love reading about all kinds of other things. As a matter of fact, a bad habit of mine is that I assume that everyone else likes to read too. And I'm certain they like to read what I am currently fascinated with. So I send links. Lots of links to articles that I think others will like. The truth is, not everyone likes to read what I like to read. And even less do they like receiving links. Links suck.
I currently keep this blog that I started over a year ago to journal about this dream of mine... a goal I set for myself over three years ago. Hard to believe it's been that long, but it has. And I imagine often that when I reach it, I will go back and re-read this entire blog from start to finish and I will create a work of art intended for publication. Yes, my friends, a big dream of mine is to write a book. I imagine the title: "Holy SH*T, I've made it to Boston!" That would be awesome, but I don't think it would fly. So I'd have to come up with something else. It would have to be catchy though. I mean, who would buy a book about an average runner who ran a bunch of marathons and finally qualified? That just described a great big chunk of runners that make up the Boston Marathon field. And what if I don't qualify? Well that doesn't change the fact that I still love to write and I'd still love to write a book. That book could quite possibly be titled: "How I managed to beat my brother by a LOT in the Western States 100 ultramarathon." I can already read the forward by my good buddy, Brad Paisley (who doesn't know we are good buddies). He would talk about how there is a link between my running and his guitar playing. It really would/will be a great read.
So in other words, depending on the type of link in which we are referencing, they don't all suck.
There is a link between runners. A link that creates a pretty spectacular bond. Today was track day. Normally I don't shy away from track work, but today I just plain didn't want to do it. I could have easily talked myself out of going, but Sarah was meeting me. I figured she was itching to get in a good dose of speed considering we both have had a pretty off couple of weeks in regard to training. So I thought, "Just get it over with. It's only 6 x 800 meter repeats. Or rather it's only 1 x 800 meter repeat... done 5 more times. Yeah, that's much better. Just one." I also knew Jen would be at the track. I hadn't seen or heard from Jen in a while and was looking forward to a bit of catching up (unfortunately she was close to finishing when we arrived and got started). As I pulled into the parking lot of Lucy's school, I received a text from Sarah "What's the plan for today. Need to wrap my head around it, just not feeling the love from my bod". Oh crap. She is supposed to get me pumped up for this. If we both aren't feeling it, we could soooo bail on this. So I responded that I wasn't feeling it either, gave her the plan of 6 x 800s with a warm up and cool down and then said, "We can do this." Something about typing that made it believable. I knew I needed a little more motivation still. And I knew the only way to produce more motivation in my lazy state was by expressing gratitude. I began to speak out loud in my car "Thank you for the sunshine on this first day of March. Thank you for this friend I can run with. Thank you for the fact that nothing hurts or no injury lingers. Thank you for my health. Thank you for the gift of your life (in the spirit of the Lenten season, it is imperative we remember that gift)." As these words of gratitude echoed in my voice and in my ears, I could feel the motivation seep into my body. I arrived at the track and Sarah and I walked to the start. We mumbled our usual "OH. SO. TIRED...." bit, started our watches and began our warm up. The warm up ended and it was time to get down to business. Lap after lap clicked by and with the help of a brief recovery in between 800s, we seemed to get stronger, our times holding steady and sometimes even lower than anticipated. Before I knew it, we were on our 6th and final 800. The time went so fast. As I rounded the turn of wind pushing my chest, the sun shining brilliantly on the track and into the straight away for our final 200 meters, I said, once again, some words of gratitude in my head,
"Thank you for showing me the link between Heaven and Earth."
What I neglected to also say is that I love to write and I love to read. There isn't just one topic or type of reading I like to do either. Sure I love reading about running, but I also love reading about all kinds of other things. As a matter of fact, a bad habit of mine is that I assume that everyone else likes to read too. And I'm certain they like to read what I am currently fascinated with. So I send links. Lots of links to articles that I think others will like. The truth is, not everyone likes to read what I like to read. And even less do they like receiving links. Links suck.
I currently keep this blog that I started over a year ago to journal about this dream of mine... a goal I set for myself over three years ago. Hard to believe it's been that long, but it has. And I imagine often that when I reach it, I will go back and re-read this entire blog from start to finish and I will create a work of art intended for publication. Yes, my friends, a big dream of mine is to write a book. I imagine the title: "Holy SH*T, I've made it to Boston!" That would be awesome, but I don't think it would fly. So I'd have to come up with something else. It would have to be catchy though. I mean, who would buy a book about an average runner who ran a bunch of marathons and finally qualified? That just described a great big chunk of runners that make up the Boston Marathon field. And what if I don't qualify? Well that doesn't change the fact that I still love to write and I'd still love to write a book. That book could quite possibly be titled: "How I managed to beat my brother by a LOT in the Western States 100 ultramarathon." I can already read the forward by my good buddy, Brad Paisley (who doesn't know we are good buddies). He would talk about how there is a link between my running and his guitar playing. It really would/will be a great read.
So in other words, depending on the type of link in which we are referencing, they don't all suck.
There is a link between runners. A link that creates a pretty spectacular bond. Today was track day. Normally I don't shy away from track work, but today I just plain didn't want to do it. I could have easily talked myself out of going, but Sarah was meeting me. I figured she was itching to get in a good dose of speed considering we both have had a pretty off couple of weeks in regard to training. So I thought, "Just get it over with. It's only 6 x 800 meter repeats. Or rather it's only 1 x 800 meter repeat... done 5 more times. Yeah, that's much better. Just one." I also knew Jen would be at the track. I hadn't seen or heard from Jen in a while and was looking forward to a bit of catching up (unfortunately she was close to finishing when we arrived and got started). As I pulled into the parking lot of Lucy's school, I received a text from Sarah "What's the plan for today. Need to wrap my head around it, just not feeling the love from my bod". Oh crap. She is supposed to get me pumped up for this. If we both aren't feeling it, we could soooo bail on this. So I responded that I wasn't feeling it either, gave her the plan of 6 x 800s with a warm up and cool down and then said, "We can do this." Something about typing that made it believable. I knew I needed a little more motivation still. And I knew the only way to produce more motivation in my lazy state was by expressing gratitude. I began to speak out loud in my car "Thank you for the sunshine on this first day of March. Thank you for this friend I can run with. Thank you for the fact that nothing hurts or no injury lingers. Thank you for my health. Thank you for the gift of your life (in the spirit of the Lenten season, it is imperative we remember that gift)." As these words of gratitude echoed in my voice and in my ears, I could feel the motivation seep into my body. I arrived at the track and Sarah and I walked to the start. We mumbled our usual "OH. SO. TIRED...." bit, started our watches and began our warm up. The warm up ended and it was time to get down to business. Lap after lap clicked by and with the help of a brief recovery in between 800s, we seemed to get stronger, our times holding steady and sometimes even lower than anticipated. Before I knew it, we were on our 6th and final 800. The time went so fast. As I rounded the turn of wind pushing my chest, the sun shining brilliantly on the track and into the straight away for our final 200 meters, I said, once again, some words of gratitude in my head,
"Thank you for showing me the link between Heaven and Earth."
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Farewell to Elvis
Yesterday Emma turned eleven. She loves everything about having her birthday on Valentine's Day and fully enjoyed basking in all the attention that having a birthday on it brings. Besides getting her up and out the door for school in the morning, I didn't see her until dinner. She had play practice after school, which was immediately followed by basketball practice. I saw her at 6:30, sweaty and hungry. We sat down to dinner with the four grandparents and Emma talked excitedly about her day.
Birthdays in our house are a big deal... not in terms of gift getting, but it's the one day a year where everything goes your way. You get to have whatever you want for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You are exempt from chores and the spotlight is on you the entire day. John will argue that I "hate" his birthday and that I always end up yelling and in a fitful state, kind of like when he is sick. That is not true. I don't hate his birthday, it just happens to fall at a super inconvenient time of the year when our lives are the busiest. That's not my fault. His mother should have planned things better in terms of what time of year she had her baby. Anyway, our kids are always top dog on their birthdays. In a family of six, the spotlight isn't focused solely on you very often so I try to just give them that one day where it is. And they absolutely love their birthdays!
On Emma's tenth birthday, she asked for a hamster. I said "NO!", but as many of my friends and family members know, I often lose the battle of the pets to a husband who loves animals and loves to get them for our kids. To date, we have had a snake (dead), a sugar glider (dead), two poison dart frogs (one dead one sold back to the pet store), two cats (one confirmed dead and one brought to the SPCA for constantly peeing on my new basement carpet... so likely dead), two dogs (one dead and one who will be if he keeps peeing in my house... ok, Chessie is 8 and a wonderful dog that we love. I'll at least say that.), lizards (dead), multiple fish (dead), a bearded dragon (alive but I don't know how since Will only gives him crickets once in a blue moon). So when Emma asked for a hamster, the humane part of me said "Not happening." I've also heard that hamsters stink and stay awake all night running in their wheels and keeping everyone up. BUT, since Emma asked her dad, and her dad can't resist any request from Emma, the two of them set out last year to get a hamster on her birthday. I don't think hamsters are a big seller on Valentine's Day so they were back very quickly with a new baby hamster and the works to go with it... cage, ball, bedding, water thingy. Without batting an eyelash, Emma named him Elvis, which was so appropriate given her fascination with Elvis Presley and her Elvis themed birthday last year. I have to admit, much as I do not like rodents, and hamsters are no exception, the little guy was so tiny and cute. Emma spent hours the first few days holding him and coddling him. I figured this would soon end and she'd forget she had a hamster and the thing would stink up her room. But that did not happen.
All year long, Emma really took care of Elvis. She cleaned his cage without being asked, held him, talked to him, made arrangements for him when we went away on vacation. For Christmas, she asked Santa to bring him some accessories for his cage so he could have a little variety and something fun to play with. Good old Santa apparently can't say no to Emma either. Soon Elvis had a cage that could have been featured on MTV's "Cribs". And to give credit to Will, I do think he fed Phoenix, his bearded dragon, on Christmas. As for Elvis, if one could truly LOVE a hamster, then Elvis was loved.
I was in the kitchen last night as the kids were getting ready for bed. I was checking e-mail on my phone when I heard Emma come in and softly say "Mom" I half-heartedly replied without looking up and answered "Hmm?" She just stood there. I looked at her and she said "Elvis is dead." She wasn't crying and didn't have much of any expression at all so I said "Emma, seriously, are you joking?" Elvis keeps me up many nights banging around in his cage and the night before was no exception. He was eating string cheese out of her hand last night in the kitchen. "No, I'm not joking mom. I went to hold him and he was just lying in his cage and when I picked him up, he was so cold. He's dead mom." I saw her face begin to crinkle up and her eyes fill with tears. I immediately realized she was serious and I opened my arms. This little eleven year old suddenly wasn't so little. I have never seen Emma grief stricken. When Mitch died, she was just turning five and at that age, there is no comprehension of death's finality. Emma is not a child that cries easily. When she was younger, getting yelled at usually prompted a glare, not a cry. She is pretty stoic when it comes to sadness and I never really know how she will react to real grief. Last night I found out. She put her arms around me, buried her head under my arm and sobbed like I have never heard her do. Her little body shook as she cried. I just stood there, holding my precious girl thinking about the irony of it all and wondering why the hell Elvis couldn't wait just one more day. Why on her birthday? She had had such a perfect day. I also realized that nothing had prepared me for the realization that my kids are experiencing "adult" emotions when it comes to loss. It was awful to know I could do nothing to ease her grief. And I know that she will wake up this morning and ache to see Elvis in his cage, curled up in a ball and innocently sleeping after a wild night of keeping me up.
Now for the concerning part... if you think I have a hard time seeing my daughter in pain, imagine what John felt. He walked in the kitchen and I could see it in his eyes... we are going to end up having 3 baby hamsters by the end of today. I just KNOW it. How do I know this? Oh, I just do. And I fear I can do nothing to stop it.
It was interesting to see his reaction to Emma. You see, my girls hang the moon in John's eyes. They really do. And John is a pretty sensitive guy anyway and a guy who loves animals and critters. As a matter of fact, Elvis wasn't fully dead when he brought him down. He was motionless and cold and definitely on his way out, but he would take an occasional breath. I was thinking "Just put the poor thing out of his misery already." But no, John put Elvis in his shirt pocket, where it was warm. He probably thought the combination of warmth and the sound of a human heartbeat would magically cure this near dead hamster. John proceeds to walk around with Elvis in his pocket for awhile. He then brings him over to our vent and wraps him up, no lie, in Emma's fleece heart blanket and places him near the vent in our room, where he remains as I type only three feet away from me. And I'm not checking his pulse this morning. God help me if Elvis were to move or something. I would freak out.
Last night it also occurred to me how grown up Will is. He reacted very much like John. He was quiet and stayed kind of out of the way. He watched Emma and I could tell he just didn't know what to say to her. I could tell he felt so bad for her but just didn't know what to do.
I have lots to think about on my run today. These solo days are when I really get deep into my head and pick apart what's going on in my life. Today will likely bring a few tears as I think about Emma's grief, Will's maturity, John's tenderness and the prospect of a houseful of baby hamsters... God help me!
Birthdays in our house are a big deal... not in terms of gift getting, but it's the one day a year where everything goes your way. You get to have whatever you want for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You are exempt from chores and the spotlight is on you the entire day. John will argue that I "hate" his birthday and that I always end up yelling and in a fitful state, kind of like when he is sick. That is not true. I don't hate his birthday, it just happens to fall at a super inconvenient time of the year when our lives are the busiest. That's not my fault. His mother should have planned things better in terms of what time of year she had her baby. Anyway, our kids are always top dog on their birthdays. In a family of six, the spotlight isn't focused solely on you very often so I try to just give them that one day where it is. And they absolutely love their birthdays!
On Emma's tenth birthday, she asked for a hamster. I said "NO!", but as many of my friends and family members know, I often lose the battle of the pets to a husband who loves animals and loves to get them for our kids. To date, we have had a snake (dead), a sugar glider (dead), two poison dart frogs (one dead one sold back to the pet store), two cats (one confirmed dead and one brought to the SPCA for constantly peeing on my new basement carpet... so likely dead), two dogs (one dead and one who will be if he keeps peeing in my house... ok, Chessie is 8 and a wonderful dog that we love. I'll at least say that.), lizards (dead), multiple fish (dead), a bearded dragon (alive but I don't know how since Will only gives him crickets once in a blue moon). So when Emma asked for a hamster, the humane part of me said "Not happening." I've also heard that hamsters stink and stay awake all night running in their wheels and keeping everyone up. BUT, since Emma asked her dad, and her dad can't resist any request from Emma, the two of them set out last year to get a hamster on her birthday. I don't think hamsters are a big seller on Valentine's Day so they were back very quickly with a new baby hamster and the works to go with it... cage, ball, bedding, water thingy. Without batting an eyelash, Emma named him Elvis, which was so appropriate given her fascination with Elvis Presley and her Elvis themed birthday last year. I have to admit, much as I do not like rodents, and hamsters are no exception, the little guy was so tiny and cute. Emma spent hours the first few days holding him and coddling him. I figured this would soon end and she'd forget she had a hamster and the thing would stink up her room. But that did not happen.
All year long, Emma really took care of Elvis. She cleaned his cage without being asked, held him, talked to him, made arrangements for him when we went away on vacation. For Christmas, she asked Santa to bring him some accessories for his cage so he could have a little variety and something fun to play with. Good old Santa apparently can't say no to Emma either. Soon Elvis had a cage that could have been featured on MTV's "Cribs". And to give credit to Will, I do think he fed Phoenix, his bearded dragon, on Christmas. As for Elvis, if one could truly LOVE a hamster, then Elvis was loved.
I was in the kitchen last night as the kids were getting ready for bed. I was checking e-mail on my phone when I heard Emma come in and softly say "Mom" I half-heartedly replied without looking up and answered "Hmm?" She just stood there. I looked at her and she said "Elvis is dead." She wasn't crying and didn't have much of any expression at all so I said "Emma, seriously, are you joking?" Elvis keeps me up many nights banging around in his cage and the night before was no exception. He was eating string cheese out of her hand last night in the kitchen. "No, I'm not joking mom. I went to hold him and he was just lying in his cage and when I picked him up, he was so cold. He's dead mom." I saw her face begin to crinkle up and her eyes fill with tears. I immediately realized she was serious and I opened my arms. This little eleven year old suddenly wasn't so little. I have never seen Emma grief stricken. When Mitch died, she was just turning five and at that age, there is no comprehension of death's finality. Emma is not a child that cries easily. When she was younger, getting yelled at usually prompted a glare, not a cry. She is pretty stoic when it comes to sadness and I never really know how she will react to real grief. Last night I found out. She put her arms around me, buried her head under my arm and sobbed like I have never heard her do. Her little body shook as she cried. I just stood there, holding my precious girl thinking about the irony of it all and wondering why the hell Elvis couldn't wait just one more day. Why on her birthday? She had had such a perfect day. I also realized that nothing had prepared me for the realization that my kids are experiencing "adult" emotions when it comes to loss. It was awful to know I could do nothing to ease her grief. And I know that she will wake up this morning and ache to see Elvis in his cage, curled up in a ball and innocently sleeping after a wild night of keeping me up.
Now for the concerning part... if you think I have a hard time seeing my daughter in pain, imagine what John felt. He walked in the kitchen and I could see it in his eyes... we are going to end up having 3 baby hamsters by the end of today. I just KNOW it. How do I know this? Oh, I just do. And I fear I can do nothing to stop it.
It was interesting to see his reaction to Emma. You see, my girls hang the moon in John's eyes. They really do. And John is a pretty sensitive guy anyway and a guy who loves animals and critters. As a matter of fact, Elvis wasn't fully dead when he brought him down. He was motionless and cold and definitely on his way out, but he would take an occasional breath. I was thinking "Just put the poor thing out of his misery already." But no, John put Elvis in his shirt pocket, where it was warm. He probably thought the combination of warmth and the sound of a human heartbeat would magically cure this near dead hamster. John proceeds to walk around with Elvis in his pocket for awhile. He then brings him over to our vent and wraps him up, no lie, in Emma's fleece heart blanket and places him near the vent in our room, where he remains as I type only three feet away from me. And I'm not checking his pulse this morning. God help me if Elvis were to move or something. I would freak out.
Last night it also occurred to me how grown up Will is. He reacted very much like John. He was quiet and stayed kind of out of the way. He watched Emma and I could tell he just didn't know what to say to her. I could tell he felt so bad for her but just didn't know what to do.
I have lots to think about on my run today. These solo days are when I really get deep into my head and pick apart what's going on in my life. Today will likely bring a few tears as I think about Emma's grief, Will's maturity, John's tenderness and the prospect of a houseful of baby hamsters... God help me!
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| Baby Elvis and Emma... February 14, 2011 |
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