So I'm normally not too afraid of workouts. I like a good hard track workout most of the time, or some tough intervals in the pool or on the bike. But I tell you what...one workout that gets in my head, pretty much every time I see it on the log?
The long run with race pace.
Gulp.
Now, I also know that this is the MOST IMPORTANT run I can do, since I am an admitted head case on race day. Practicing race pace, and in the middle of a long run to boot, is something that I seriously benefit from. However, when I see it looming on the horizon, the wimpy TST on my shoulder starts messing with me. All week.
Last year, I remember doing some race pace miles in the middle of long runs and thinking the world might end. And they were definitely tough, but I was able to hit most of them.
This year, I already said I'm going big. So that means that race pace miles are going to have to be, like, fast and stuff.
Crap.
Prior to December 2011, my 5K PR had me holding no better than 7:42/miles. That was my PR for 9 freaking years. Now, part of that is because I suck at pacing myself. Big time. But nonetheless, when I saw 40 minutes at race pace--sub 8!-- in the middle of a 1:40 run, I kind of freaked out.
And that was before I got sick.
Yes, I got sick about Tuesday, which I tried vehemently to convince myself was JUST! ALLERGIES! but alas, it was not. I got some kind of a secondary infection that was in my chest and just ROTTEN. I probably should have stayed home from school on Wednesday, but I was hoping to just soldier through. Well, that backfired because at about 1am Thursday morning I knew there was NO way on God's green earth I could function at school and I had to take a sick day the day before vacation. Also known as Indians Home Opener, or a National Holiday in Cleveland. Which finally made me look like the shadiest character alive, but there IS A PAPER TRAIL to the doctor's office which DID INVOLVE a Z-pack so I swear on my life I was seriously sick.
Now, how on earth was I going to do this run? On antibiotics? Coughing up a lung?
The TST Wimp kept appearing and whispering in my ear. You can't. You can't. You CAN'T seriously hold a pace that is not much off your old 5K pace for 40 minutes. No way, phlegm-filled sloth. Nowaynowaynowaaaaayyyy.
So of course I freaked out. Emailed Coach Emily and asked her if I have any business going for this goal right now...I mean, I've kind of got a lot going on....maybe I should not try something this aggressive?
As usual, she knew exactly what to say, which was a verbal kick in the pants. That going from 1:47 to 1:29 would be too aggressive, but 1:47 to 1:42 and change is not. That it will be and is supposed to be hard sometimes, and that I need to roll with it and focus on what I can do in that moment.
So I did.
I linked up with some of my new running friends at the new lunch table and we set out for 12 miles. I was able to talk one girl, Laura, into the pickups with me but given my cough was still pretty rough told her let's shoot for 4 miles instead of the 40 minutes. That way I could still work hard but listen to my body, which was still screaming for a little respect. Laura's pretty badass and has ran Boston and also can bust out a super fast 5K, so for her it wasn't as big of a deal. For me? I was going to be clinging on for dear life.
We ran 5 miles at about 9s or so, and then I said, "okay, let's go" about as un-convincing as you can...so we took off.
You know what?
I effing killed it.
Seriously, I was in disbelief while I was running because it definitely felt tough, but doable. Not impossible. And this was a good confidence boost, since I was super tired, all drugged up on antibiotics and antihistamines, and just in general not in race form. So for 4 miles we went 8:00, 7:56, 7:49, and 7:59 (slight uphill for the last 1/2 mile or so). And then I did mad dances of joy in my head, and continued running home nice and easy with Anne, Michelle, and Laura at a pace a little over 9s for a total of 13--yes, 13!--miles in 1:53.
No big deal.
This was huge. I still have a playlist on my iPod that is called "1:54 or bust" from when I tried to break 1:55 in the half marathon for so long.
I am pretty happy to have come such a long way in a few years, here. Hopefully this will continue and I can keep tweaking stuff and working hard to shattering the 1:47 I have standing right now.
Bring it, yo.
Monday, April 09, 2012
Friday, April 06, 2012
"No. The answer is no."
"But can't you just do this stuff for fun?" he asks, innocently. "I mean, it seems like it's stressing you out MORE to do these workouts."
I sit, staring at the carpet. He's a little right, and I know that.
"Maybe you should just do these workouts for fun and not worry about times and stuff. Or do the race for fun and not try to beat your old times."
I stare blankly back at him.
________________________
Indoor pool, North Olmsted, Ohio. Sometime in the summer of 1985.
It was one of my first swim meets, I think. I can't really remember much except the deafening sound of water and the blurry colors I saw whenever I took a breath. Every 4 strokes, then. Left side. I saw people jumping up and down, my coaches yelling weird noises and screams that were timed up with my breath. I couldn't see her, but I knew she must be close. So I went as hard and fast as I possibly could, and I hit the wall.
And I beat her. But I beat me, too. It was my fastest 25 freestyle I'd ever clocked.
I remember holding onto the side of the pool, gasping for air, looking at my hands on the wall and smiling.
________________________
Summer, 2007. I am huge and pregnant and have no idea what's about to happen. All I know is that I miss racing so much, that it literally sometimes brings me to tears. I still swim and run and stuff, "for fun," but I am hungry for the days when I can run hard and swim fast again. When I can feel my quads burning on a hill. When I could cross the finish line and almost puke, knowing I left it all on the course.
________________________
February, 1995. Some old high school that's now demolished. I remember how dull and institutional everything was, and that the cafeteria smelled like mildew.
It was my senior year solo and ensemble contest. I picked the hardest possible pieces I could find: both Class A. Not just any Class A. I wanted the really tough ones. So I picked a Brahms piece that looked as if it was black on all 4 1/2 pages. Solid black.
I practiced and practiced that damn piece. I started to feel the fear creep in...that I wasn't as ready as I usually was. That this was going to be a bit of a gamble. I was still shooting for a 1 of course, but in my mind I was ready to take a 2 on this if I needed to. My first 2 in four years of competing in flute and piano.
I remember walking into the dingy room with a piano and playing my heart out. There were some mistakes, but they were relatively slight in comparison to the piece. I played with a ton of musicality and a little less technique, which was usually my style. Every once in a while, I'd miss a little note here or there but I knew I still did well, and I was proud of what I did with that piece.
I waited for the score. I knew it wouldn't be a 1, but I thought I could still get a 2.
FOUR
Four?
FOUR?
My heart sank and my eyes welled up. Four was not even an option. FOUR? Four was what they give you if you had no business being there. If you messed up so bad that you puked and cried and punched the judge in the face. Four? I was humiliated. My piano teacher and band director were so furious, I thought they WERE going to punch the judge in the face. Literally.
I had 35 minutes before my next performance. If I had any hope of doing well, I'd have to move on. I'd have to forget that this ever happened, and remember that that number was one person's judgement; that it was not indicative of who I was or of what I did in there.
I stared at the wall as hard as I could and I remember actually letting go. I don't think I've ever been able to do that since, but I stared and breathed and said "new day, new day today" and went in and nailed my Class A flute piece.
And got a 1.
________________________
Spring, 1994. The ballpark diamond behind the school. A chilly but sunny day.
I ran in, breathless, after play practice and cheerleading tryouts. I was trying to squeeze in a lot into that evening, and felt a little bit like I deserved to slack off that evening. I was hungry. I had already been to two different practices. What did it matter if I didn't pitch that well tonight, right? It's just practice. Not a game, practice. (Channelling my inner AI cockiness, I guess)
I remember throwing a few balls and giggling about it. "I'm tired," I thought. "This doesn't really matter."
My coach called timeout and came out to the mound. I figured he'd tell me a way to use my changeup more effectively or something, or just tell me something minor.
"You come in here late. You're laughing. You're throwing junk right now. I'm disappointed in you," he spat. "I don't even think you care about this game very much."
And he walked away.
I threw nine strikes in a row.
I walked back to the dugout and slammed my glove against the fence. And sat down. Silently.
He smiled. Because he knew he said exactly what you'd need to say to get me to focus.
All you need to do is tell me that I don't care about it. That I'm not putting my heart into it.
That, to me, is the worst insult of all. And I will die proving you wrong.
______________________________
All of these moments flashed before me when Matt told me I should do this "for fun." That maybe I should ease up on the goals.
And I know that some of what he's saying here is legit. But the other part of me says that you don't become a competitive swimmer, a closing pitcher, or a performing musician because you are afraid of goals or pressure. To some extent, this is just me, and I can't flip the switch.
"No," I told him. "The answer is no. I can't. Because it is not the same sport if I just 'do it for fun.'"
He looked at me quizzically. Like I had just grown another eyeball.
"It would be like you playing soccer and not keeping score. Could you do that?"
Yes, he said. Yes, of course he could.
Sigh.
And then I realized the difference between us. He's a phenomenal athlete, and was a very good all-state football kicker who often had the whole game resting on his shoulders. Most of the time he made it; a few times he did not. It's not like he's a stranger to intensity.
But he can turn it off. I can't.
For me, the fun is in chasing the goal and, from time to time, feeling the fear from knowing it's difficult. The fun is in the silent moment I have at the end, with just me, knowing I did it. Or if I didn't do it, knowing that I tried and gave it everything I had.
I did just work out "for fun" for about two years. It was called pregnancy and newborn. And it was okay, and all.
But it was nothing like the fun I get from pushing just to the edge of the cliff and then taking that leap of faith.
I sit, staring at the carpet. He's a little right, and I know that.
"Maybe you should just do these workouts for fun and not worry about times and stuff. Or do the race for fun and not try to beat your old times."
I stare blankly back at him.
________________________
Indoor pool, North Olmsted, Ohio. Sometime in the summer of 1985.
It was one of my first swim meets, I think. I can't really remember much except the deafening sound of water and the blurry colors I saw whenever I took a breath. Every 4 strokes, then. Left side. I saw people jumping up and down, my coaches yelling weird noises and screams that were timed up with my breath. I couldn't see her, but I knew she must be close. So I went as hard and fast as I possibly could, and I hit the wall.
And I beat her. But I beat me, too. It was my fastest 25 freestyle I'd ever clocked.
I remember holding onto the side of the pool, gasping for air, looking at my hands on the wall and smiling.
________________________
Summer, 2007. I am huge and pregnant and have no idea what's about to happen. All I know is that I miss racing so much, that it literally sometimes brings me to tears. I still swim and run and stuff, "for fun," but I am hungry for the days when I can run hard and swim fast again. When I can feel my quads burning on a hill. When I could cross the finish line and almost puke, knowing I left it all on the course.
________________________
February, 1995. Some old high school that's now demolished. I remember how dull and institutional everything was, and that the cafeteria smelled like mildew.
It was my senior year solo and ensemble contest. I picked the hardest possible pieces I could find: both Class A. Not just any Class A. I wanted the really tough ones. So I picked a Brahms piece that looked as if it was black on all 4 1/2 pages. Solid black.
I practiced and practiced that damn piece. I started to feel the fear creep in...that I wasn't as ready as I usually was. That this was going to be a bit of a gamble. I was still shooting for a 1 of course, but in my mind I was ready to take a 2 on this if I needed to. My first 2 in four years of competing in flute and piano.
I remember walking into the dingy room with a piano and playing my heart out. There were some mistakes, but they were relatively slight in comparison to the piece. I played with a ton of musicality and a little less technique, which was usually my style. Every once in a while, I'd miss a little note here or there but I knew I still did well, and I was proud of what I did with that piece.
I waited for the score. I knew it wouldn't be a 1, but I thought I could still get a 2.
FOUR
Four?
FOUR?
My heart sank and my eyes welled up. Four was not even an option. FOUR? Four was what they give you if you had no business being there. If you messed up so bad that you puked and cried and punched the judge in the face. Four? I was humiliated. My piano teacher and band director were so furious, I thought they WERE going to punch the judge in the face. Literally.
I had 35 minutes before my next performance. If I had any hope of doing well, I'd have to move on. I'd have to forget that this ever happened, and remember that that number was one person's judgement; that it was not indicative of who I was or of what I did in there.
I stared at the wall as hard as I could and I remember actually letting go. I don't think I've ever been able to do that since, but I stared and breathed and said "new day, new day today" and went in and nailed my Class A flute piece.
And got a 1.
________________________
Spring, 1994. The ballpark diamond behind the school. A chilly but sunny day.
I ran in, breathless, after play practice and cheerleading tryouts. I was trying to squeeze in a lot into that evening, and felt a little bit like I deserved to slack off that evening. I was hungry. I had already been to two different practices. What did it matter if I didn't pitch that well tonight, right? It's just practice. Not a game, practice. (Channelling my inner AI cockiness, I guess)
I remember throwing a few balls and giggling about it. "I'm tired," I thought. "This doesn't really matter."
My coach called timeout and came out to the mound. I figured he'd tell me a way to use my changeup more effectively or something, or just tell me something minor.
"You come in here late. You're laughing. You're throwing junk right now. I'm disappointed in you," he spat. "I don't even think you care about this game very much."
And he walked away.
I threw nine strikes in a row.
I walked back to the dugout and slammed my glove against the fence. And sat down. Silently.
He smiled. Because he knew he said exactly what you'd need to say to get me to focus.
All you need to do is tell me that I don't care about it. That I'm not putting my heart into it.
That, to me, is the worst insult of all. And I will die proving you wrong.
______________________________
All of these moments flashed before me when Matt told me I should do this "for fun." That maybe I should ease up on the goals.
And I know that some of what he's saying here is legit. But the other part of me says that you don't become a competitive swimmer, a closing pitcher, or a performing musician because you are afraid of goals or pressure. To some extent, this is just me, and I can't flip the switch.
"No," I told him. "The answer is no. I can't. Because it is not the same sport if I just 'do it for fun.'"
He looked at me quizzically. Like I had just grown another eyeball.
"It would be like you playing soccer and not keeping score. Could you do that?"
Yes, he said. Yes, of course he could.
Sigh.
And then I realized the difference between us. He's a phenomenal athlete, and was a very good all-state football kicker who often had the whole game resting on his shoulders. Most of the time he made it; a few times he did not. It's not like he's a stranger to intensity.
But he can turn it off. I can't.
For me, the fun is in chasing the goal and, from time to time, feeling the fear from knowing it's difficult. The fun is in the silent moment I have at the end, with just me, knowing I did it. Or if I didn't do it, knowing that I tried and gave it everything I had.
I did just work out "for fun" for about two years. It was called pregnancy and newborn. And it was okay, and all.
But it was nothing like the fun I get from pushing just to the edge of the cliff and then taking that leap of faith.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
You know what?
I almost didn't run today. I felt SOOOO rotten/sorry for myself/full of snotty allergy mess. Headache, blah blah blah.
Then I read Coach Emily's report of Leadman, and how she kicked serious tail in SERIOUS wind. With hills. Like, both directions.
So I figured the least my pansy butt could do was to get out for 5 miles.
Clear, quiet, me and the shadow again. iPod was dead, so no tunes. And I realized two things.
1. I am pretty awesome at hocking loogies.
2. I'm getting faster. For real.
Just in time. This is good news. Good news, indeed.
Then I read Coach Emily's report of Leadman, and how she kicked serious tail in SERIOUS wind. With hills. Like, both directions.
So I figured the least my pansy butt could do was to get out for 5 miles.
Clear, quiet, me and the shadow again. iPod was dead, so no tunes. And I realized two things.
1. I am pretty awesome at hocking loogies.
2. I'm getting faster. For real.
Just in time. This is good news. Good news, indeed.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Highlight Reel
Running down the street, dusk. Street lights on. Feet on the pavement, hand on the iPod, breath in and out. Colder; more realistically March, actually. 30 short minutes is all I get today, but it is 30 minutes I wouldn't trade for the world. Thirty minutes to run it out, to remind me who I am, to come home better. Better everything.
My shadows follow me with every street light. They start behind me, inch up in front of me, and then swishswishswish of the ponytail they pull ahead of me, reminding me of where I'm going. Where I'm heading.
Home.
Faster. Stronger.
_____________________________________
It's funny, because one of my good friends that I haven't had the chance to talk to said that "from facebook and your blog, things look like they are going really well, right?"
I have an admission to make. It's really not an admission, but stating the obvious, I guess.
This is my highlight reel.
This is the place I usually focus on the good. And there is a lot of good, so don't get me wrong here. But if I am giving you the impression I have my schtuff together, all the time, every day, well...then this is false advertising, friends.
Let's get a little real here for a moment. The truth is that I fall. Often. I get so overwhelmed and tired sometimes that I snap. At Matt. At my kids. At my dog. Occasionally, I frantically email Coach Emily at 12:47am overwhelmed begging for mercy from my already low-volume week. Sometimes I cry when I'm making dinner or doing laundry or grading essays or packing lunches because I just feel like there is simply not enough of me to go around. Ever.
And the funny thing? I know I am doing this well. I'm doing, quite simply, the best you can do with a two and four year old and a full time job involving lots and lots of work coming home and an amazing husband who thankfully is in the same business as me and gets it. We're muddling through this together. And I know that those of you with teenagers and/or more than 2 kids are probably rolling your eyes at me right now, but let's just say that I finally get it. I get how difficult this is. And it's a constant tightrope I walk between balancing everything and still being me. I've been recently nominated for two really huge honors at work, and it's seriously an honor even to be mentioned. When I come home from a run on Saturday, Emmy says, "Mommy, sit! Mommy, sit!" and, of course, I do. I am number one in their books, and that's a good thing.
I'm learning. It's been 4 1/2 years, almost, but I'm still learning.
So to those out there who think this is effortless, this is easy for me, that you don't know how I pull this off, my answer is: it's not, holy crap IT'S NOT, and BARELY. Barely. I'm constantly working on being "good enough," because I know my version of good enough is still pretty darn good.
I think this is why aging up gets tougher. When I was in my twenties I wondered how the age groups got tougher as you got older. Aren't you supposed to slow down and stuff?
No, no noooooooooo, 28 year old self. You're cute. You get serious, is what you do.
You realize that every run is a connection to your self. Every early morning swim buys you more "Mommy, sit!" moments. And yeah, conventional wisdom says you shouldn't work through lunch, but you do it anyway, because it gets you some more of those "Mommy, sit!" moments, too.
I'm running better than I have in my entire life, and that is not an exaggeration. And as I'm approaching a new age group pretty soon, I think I understand.
I spent most of the first part of my thirties pregnant and nursing. I'm about to join the F35-39 here, soon, and like them, I plan on spending the second half of my thirties kicking a lot of ass.
And I'll continue to use this as it always has been for me: a place to put down what I think about when I'm swimbikerunning, my goals and dreams, my highlights, and occasionally my falls, too.
There's certainly a reason my knees are all skinned up.
It may not be pretty all the time, but I'll never stop chasing that shadow.
My shadows follow me with every street light. They start behind me, inch up in front of me, and then swishswishswish of the ponytail they pull ahead of me, reminding me of where I'm going. Where I'm heading.
Home.
Faster. Stronger.
_____________________________________
It's funny, because one of my good friends that I haven't had the chance to talk to said that "from facebook and your blog, things look like they are going really well, right?"
I have an admission to make. It's really not an admission, but stating the obvious, I guess.
This is my highlight reel.
This is the place I usually focus on the good. And there is a lot of good, so don't get me wrong here. But if I am giving you the impression I have my schtuff together, all the time, every day, well...then this is false advertising, friends.
Let's get a little real here for a moment. The truth is that I fall. Often. I get so overwhelmed and tired sometimes that I snap. At Matt. At my kids. At my dog. Occasionally, I frantically email Coach Emily at 12:47am overwhelmed begging for mercy from my already low-volume week. Sometimes I cry when I'm making dinner or doing laundry or grading essays or packing lunches because I just feel like there is simply not enough of me to go around. Ever.
And the funny thing? I know I am doing this well. I'm doing, quite simply, the best you can do with a two and four year old and a full time job involving lots and lots of work coming home and an amazing husband who thankfully is in the same business as me and gets it. We're muddling through this together. And I know that those of you with teenagers and/or more than 2 kids are probably rolling your eyes at me right now, but let's just say that I finally get it. I get how difficult this is. And it's a constant tightrope I walk between balancing everything and still being me. I've been recently nominated for two really huge honors at work, and it's seriously an honor even to be mentioned. When I come home from a run on Saturday, Emmy says, "Mommy, sit! Mommy, sit!" and, of course, I do. I am number one in their books, and that's a good thing.
I'm learning. It's been 4 1/2 years, almost, but I'm still learning.
So to those out there who think this is effortless, this is easy for me, that you don't know how I pull this off, my answer is: it's not, holy crap IT'S NOT, and BARELY. Barely. I'm constantly working on being "good enough," because I know my version of good enough is still pretty darn good.
I think this is why aging up gets tougher. When I was in my twenties I wondered how the age groups got tougher as you got older. Aren't you supposed to slow down and stuff?
No, no noooooooooo, 28 year old self. You're cute. You get serious, is what you do.
You realize that every run is a connection to your self. Every early morning swim buys you more "Mommy, sit!" moments. And yeah, conventional wisdom says you shouldn't work through lunch, but you do it anyway, because it gets you some more of those "Mommy, sit!" moments, too.
I'm running better than I have in my entire life, and that is not an exaggeration. And as I'm approaching a new age group pretty soon, I think I understand.
I spent most of the first part of my thirties pregnant and nursing. I'm about to join the F35-39 here, soon, and like them, I plan on spending the second half of my thirties kicking a lot of ass.
And I'll continue to use this as it always has been for me: a place to put down what I think about when I'm swimbikerunning, my goals and dreams, my highlights, and occasionally my falls, too.
There's certainly a reason my knees are all skinned up.
It may not be pretty all the time, but I'll never stop chasing that shadow.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The TST Playlist, 10/100
Last night I was out WAAAAAAAY past my bedtime on a "school night," rocking out with my buddies to some Arctic Monkeys and Black Keys. In honor, I have to choose this song, and don't you worry...I will SO have these sweet dance moves perfected in time for Chattanooga. My buddy EH already has 'em DOWN (as she demonstrated last night)!
 |
| Me with the superfun ESpeed |
Monday, March 19, 2012
Hello, New Friend(s)
I opened up the brown box to find them...all shiny and new.
No miles. That "new shoe" smell.
I took them out for a run and, as usual with a new pair of runners, realized just how many miles were in my old shoes. It's time for them to retire. Perhaps somewhere warm. Which, normally, I'd say maybe Florida or Arizona, but considering I heard Flagstaff had 19 inches of snow, perhaps little old CLE with our 75 degree March days lately will suffice.
44 minutes and 5.16 miles later, sweaty, panting, smiling...I formally introduce myself.
Hi, shoes. I'm TST. It's nice to meet you. I wonder where you're going to take me for the next 300-400 miles?
No miles. That "new shoe" smell.
I took them out for a run and, as usual with a new pair of runners, realized just how many miles were in my old shoes. It's time for them to retire. Perhaps somewhere warm. Which, normally, I'd say maybe Florida or Arizona, but considering I heard Flagstaff had 19 inches of snow, perhaps little old CLE with our 75 degree March days lately will suffice.
44 minutes and 5.16 miles later, sweaty, panting, smiling...I formally introduce myself.
Hi, shoes. I'm TST. It's nice to meet you. I wonder where you're going to take me for the next 300-400 miles?
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Bring Out the GIMP
(I think the gimp's sleeping)
(Well, I guess you'll just have to go wake him up now, won't you?)
Sorry. I couldn't resist that.
It is very hard to type right now. Because remember, back two years ago, when I almost chopped off my right pinky finger? Yeah, now I have MATCHING GIMP PINKIES.
Seriously. Who does this?
This guy! With an avocado slicer and a misguided attempt to make guacamole from an under-ripe avocado!
This is very unfortunate, because I have many many good things to say. So I will have to leave you now with a HUGE FRICKEN CONGRATULATIONS to my amazing coach, Emily Cocks, for her 4th place finish today at Rev3 Costa Rica! She's kind of a big deal, people. You best check yourselves.
Congrats, Coach Em! You inspire me big time.
Back (hopefully) in a day or two when I don't have to type like I'm a five year old!
(Well, I guess you'll just have to go wake him up now, won't you?)
Sorry. I couldn't resist that.
It is very hard to type right now. Because remember, back two years ago, when I almost chopped off my right pinky finger? Yeah, now I have MATCHING GIMP PINKIES.
Seriously. Who does this?
This guy! With an avocado slicer and a misguided attempt to make guacamole from an under-ripe avocado!
This is very unfortunate, because I have many many good things to say. So I will have to leave you now with a HUGE FRICKEN CONGRATULATIONS to my amazing coach, Emily Cocks, for her 4th place finish today at Rev3 Costa Rica! She's kind of a big deal, people. You best check yourselves.
Congrats, Coach Em! You inspire me big time.
Back (hopefully) in a day or two when I don't have to type like I'm a five year old!
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
My nose thinks it's May
So I guess that buying Bean an 18-24 month snowsuit was a complete FAIL as we did not use it ONCE. ONCE! And we actually had a snowblower this year, too! Seriously--Bug got to go sledding one measly time this year. He absolutely freaking LOVED it, though. But now we're replacing our normally craptastic March weather with burgers on the grill, walks in the wagon, my nose running like a nasty faucet, and stuff like this:
I even got to do my very first outdoor brick of the season in a short-sleeved jersey and shorts on Sunday! It was hella windy but so so so sooooooo good to get out on the QR CD0.1. I freaking love this bike.
I also had another decent run despite the crazy wind. Snapped this on my way home about 3 miles down the street from where I live:
Swimming has been a bit touch and go lately, since I'm officially in the INSANE part of the school year as we are closing in on the AP Exam. May 11th is my D-Day, people. Or, as I like to call it, "The Day I Get My Life Back." Although, I'm making the best of the little free time I do have now and soaking up the sun and the smiles from my little Bug and Bean.
Running has been sick lately. I'm not sure what has gotten into me, but my long runs are consistently sub-9 and my nice and easy pace is hovering in the mid-8s. Today I did 10X1 minute hard and 1 minute easy in the middle of a 40 minute run. Maybe it was that I knew there were my burgers cooking on the grill at home, or maybe it was the 70 degrees and sun on March 13. Regardless, I killed that run. Per Coach Emily, I did 3 at half-marathon pace, 4 at 10K pace, and 3 at 5K pace. Happy to say that all three of the 5K pushes were either right at or UNDER 7! One day, I will reach the elusive 6:59/mile for a 5K...one day...
So what's my half marathon pace you may ask? Well, if you've been reading here for a while you know I like to aim high. With life being supercrazyinsane lately, I was completely ready to be more conservative and try to break my current PR of 1:47.06. That's an 8:10/mile pace I set back in 2009. Really, I was, I swear. Totally ready to go for an 8:09 and call it done.
But then I started running well. Really well. My mileage is not the greatest, but I am doing a decent amount of cross training. What to do, what to do....oh, come on now, you know how this ends, right?
Right.
I decided to suck it up, cupcake, and HTFU. So I will be lining up with the 3:25 marathon pace group, which will have me aiming for approximately a 1:42.30. Bring it.
Go hard or go home, suckas.
 |
| Cuz she's a RIDAH. |
I also had another decent run despite the crazy wind. Snapped this on my way home about 3 miles down the street from where I live:
 |
| See it? That's Cleveland, and also a pretty calm lake for this time of year. Which really makes me want SUMMER NOW. |
Swimming has been a bit touch and go lately, since I'm officially in the INSANE part of the school year as we are closing in on the AP Exam. May 11th is my D-Day, people. Or, as I like to call it, "The Day I Get My Life Back." Although, I'm making the best of the little free time I do have now and soaking up the sun and the smiles from my little Bug and Bean.
Running has been sick lately. I'm not sure what has gotten into me, but my long runs are consistently sub-9 and my nice and easy pace is hovering in the mid-8s. Today I did 10X1 minute hard and 1 minute easy in the middle of a 40 minute run. Maybe it was that I knew there were my burgers cooking on the grill at home, or maybe it was the 70 degrees and sun on March 13. Regardless, I killed that run. Per Coach Emily, I did 3 at half-marathon pace, 4 at 10K pace, and 3 at 5K pace. Happy to say that all three of the 5K pushes were either right at or UNDER 7! One day, I will reach the elusive 6:59/mile for a 5K...one day...
So what's my half marathon pace you may ask? Well, if you've been reading here for a while you know I like to aim high. With life being supercrazyinsane lately, I was completely ready to be more conservative and try to break my current PR of 1:47.06. That's an 8:10/mile pace I set back in 2009. Really, I was, I swear. Totally ready to go for an 8:09 and call it done.
But then I started running well. Really well. My mileage is not the greatest, but I am doing a decent amount of cross training. What to do, what to do....oh, come on now, you know how this ends, right?
Right.
I decided to suck it up, cupcake, and HTFU. So I will be lining up with the 3:25 marathon pace group, which will have me aiming for approximately a 1:42.30. Bring it.
Go hard or go home, suckas.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
The TST Playlist, 9/100
When you are really tired?
You just aren't feeling it?
Legs are heavy? Can't seem to put it together?
Think of your best race ever, and then, this.
Whoa, it's my road, it's my road, it's my road...
You just aren't feeling it?
Legs are heavy? Can't seem to put it together?
Think of your best race ever, and then, this.
Whoa, it's my road, it's my road, it's my road...
Sunday, March 04, 2012
The New Table
So Ana's out with an ACL that's torn. Which ROTS. And, she's moving away from my backyard soon, which also rots, although it's still *kind of* down the road from me. About 4 miles and change down the road and in another town, but still close.
Last week I thought I'd test out running by myself and head in the direction of her new place to see if I could make it close so I could say she was still officially "on my running route."
I don't know WHAT got into me, but I was FLYING last Saturday. I mean, freaking FLYING. I swear I didn't try to go too fast--but after a little bit I will admit that I was hoping to keep the pace where it was. I ended up running 9.63 miles with an average pace of 8:28/mile. It was pretty awesome, and I'm pretty sure I passed her new street although I am not exactly sure which house is hers.
So, see? Still on my running route. Sort of.
Anyway, I've been forced to branch out a bit and try to find another group to run with here, because running alone is just not fun all the time. Sometimes, yes. Every single run? No. So I tentatively reached out to a few girls that I know run sort of near me. Anne, one of the crew, emailed me back and said that of course they'd love to have me, that they meet just down the road from me, and that they are now running 8-10 miles at about a 9:00/mile pace. Which, I dare say, is PERFECT. So this weekend was a little nuts and I couldn't make it, but I'm hoping to make it next Saturday.
I feel a little bit like a new kid sitting at a different lunch table. I hope they like me and are okay with my bizarre sense of humor, massive amounts of snot from allergies, and nerd-like tendencies.
In other news, Thursday was completely nuts at school as we had a bomb threat called in and had to evacuate and walk to a school almost a half a mile away. Luckily, it was all a hoax and the kid that did it was caught and admitted to--wait for it--MAKING THE CALL FROM THE BATHROOM. Not the smartest thing to do, for sure. Tensions were definitely high with what happened in Chardon last Monday and it was a little nerve-wracking even though we got the all-clear by noon. The fact that we have to think about these things is sad and frustrating and annoying and a bit scary, but this is our world now, so I guess I'd better deal with it.
I'm definitely looking forward to some good running weather this week and hopefully hitting the pool a bit, too--Bug's swim lessons have gone INFINITELY better since the humongous meltdown of a few week's past and he has been a little pool rockstar lately. So proud of him. :)
Happy weekend and happy training!
Last week I thought I'd test out running by myself and head in the direction of her new place to see if I could make it close so I could say she was still officially "on my running route."
I don't know WHAT got into me, but I was FLYING last Saturday. I mean, freaking FLYING. I swear I didn't try to go too fast--but after a little bit I will admit that I was hoping to keep the pace where it was. I ended up running 9.63 miles with an average pace of 8:28/mile. It was pretty awesome, and I'm pretty sure I passed her new street although I am not exactly sure which house is hers.
So, see? Still on my running route. Sort of.
Anyway, I've been forced to branch out a bit and try to find another group to run with here, because running alone is just not fun all the time. Sometimes, yes. Every single run? No. So I tentatively reached out to a few girls that I know run sort of near me. Anne, one of the crew, emailed me back and said that of course they'd love to have me, that they meet just down the road from me, and that they are now running 8-10 miles at about a 9:00/mile pace. Which, I dare say, is PERFECT. So this weekend was a little nuts and I couldn't make it, but I'm hoping to make it next Saturday.
I feel a little bit like a new kid sitting at a different lunch table. I hope they like me and are okay with my bizarre sense of humor, massive amounts of snot from allergies, and nerd-like tendencies.
In other news, Thursday was completely nuts at school as we had a bomb threat called in and had to evacuate and walk to a school almost a half a mile away. Luckily, it was all a hoax and the kid that did it was caught and admitted to--wait for it--MAKING THE CALL FROM THE BATHROOM. Not the smartest thing to do, for sure. Tensions were definitely high with what happened in Chardon last Monday and it was a little nerve-wracking even though we got the all-clear by noon. The fact that we have to think about these things is sad and frustrating and annoying and a bit scary, but this is our world now, so I guess I'd better deal with it.
I'm definitely looking forward to some good running weather this week and hopefully hitting the pool a bit, too--Bug's swim lessons have gone INFINITELY better since the humongous meltdown of a few week's past and he has been a little pool rockstar lately. So proud of him. :)
Happy weekend and happy training!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
For Chardon
I was going to write a post about my amazing run on Saturday, but that will have to wait. Somehow it doesn't seem right to write about a run in the sun right now.
Right now there are two families suffering losses I hope I never even have to fathom.
(UPDATE, 2/28, 1pm: And now it's three students that have died. No words.)
Chardon is a small town on the other side of Cleveland. It is very similar in size to Rocky River, where I teach. Our school partnered with Chardon and sent groups of teachers there to learn how to implement their Professional Learning Communities and outstanding Freshmen Mentoring program. I couldn't make it on the days we went since I was on maternity leave, but everyone I talked to at work was really impressed with what Chardon had in place. Mentoring at-risk freshman. Teachers collaborating and using data to identify needs for improvement in the curriculum.
From my experience, Chardon did everything right.
Even their lockdown was well-planned. Their teacher, Frank Hall, showed amazing guts as he chased down the gunman.
I started to really think about this. Things are so, SO different than they were 12 years ago when I started teaching. And definitely WAY different than they were when I was in middle school and high school.
I had it relatively easy in high school--by then, either I didn't care if someone picked on me or the tormenting had pretty much stopped.
But when I was being picked on, pretty much daily, from 5th grade to 8th grade, I knew that when I walked out of that school building it was done. Until the next day. Until I had to see that kid at lunch or in the hallway, and they'd pick on me for being "too smart" or "too fat" or "too tall" or "having hair too dark" or "wearing generic shoes" or insert-completely-asinine-12-year-old-insult here.
It ended at home. I was safe at home.
This culture we've got now is scary. I see these kids with their phones attached to their bodies like another appendage--they are always on. Thank God, and I truly mean that, there was no Facebook or Twitter or YouTube when I was getting bullied. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been able to come out of that as fine as I did if I wasn't able to turn it off for three years straight. If I wasn't able to turn that bullying off at 3:08pm.
It appears that bullying was at least partially a motive. And what used to turn into a fight after school or in the lunch room, has turned into a complete and utter tragedy. And I'm sure everyone will weigh in on what Chardon did or did not do. I'm telling you right now: Chardon did everything they could.
This is bigger than us. And it has to stop.
Prayers for the Chardon community today, and to all who feel that they are hopeless and lost. Prayers that they are helped before they feel this is the answer.
Right now there are two families suffering losses I hope I never even have to fathom.
(UPDATE, 2/28, 1pm: And now it's three students that have died. No words.)
Chardon is a small town on the other side of Cleveland. It is very similar in size to Rocky River, where I teach. Our school partnered with Chardon and sent groups of teachers there to learn how to implement their Professional Learning Communities and outstanding Freshmen Mentoring program. I couldn't make it on the days we went since I was on maternity leave, but everyone I talked to at work was really impressed with what Chardon had in place. Mentoring at-risk freshman. Teachers collaborating and using data to identify needs for improvement in the curriculum.
From my experience, Chardon did everything right.
Even their lockdown was well-planned. Their teacher, Frank Hall, showed amazing guts as he chased down the gunman.
I started to really think about this. Things are so, SO different than they were 12 years ago when I started teaching. And definitely WAY different than they were when I was in middle school and high school.
I had it relatively easy in high school--by then, either I didn't care if someone picked on me or the tormenting had pretty much stopped.
But when I was being picked on, pretty much daily, from 5th grade to 8th grade, I knew that when I walked out of that school building it was done. Until the next day. Until I had to see that kid at lunch or in the hallway, and they'd pick on me for being "too smart" or "too fat" or "too tall" or "having hair too dark" or "wearing generic shoes" or insert-completely-asinine-12-year-old-insult here.
It ended at home. I was safe at home.
This culture we've got now is scary. I see these kids with their phones attached to their bodies like another appendage--they are always on. Thank God, and I truly mean that, there was no Facebook or Twitter or YouTube when I was getting bullied. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been able to come out of that as fine as I did if I wasn't able to turn it off for three years straight. If I wasn't able to turn that bullying off at 3:08pm.
It appears that bullying was at least partially a motive. And what used to turn into a fight after school or in the lunch room, has turned into a complete and utter tragedy. And I'm sure everyone will weigh in on what Chardon did or did not do. I'm telling you right now: Chardon did everything they could.
This is bigger than us. And it has to stop.
Prayers for the Chardon community today, and to all who feel that they are hopeless and lost. Prayers that they are helped before they feel this is the answer.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
TST Playlist: 8/100
I do not understand why I love this song so much right now.
It's just really good to run to. Alone. Because that's what I've been resorting to, since I lost my running buddy for the season. Poor Ana re-tore a previously-torn ACL. She's crushed. I'm bummed.
So it will be some running by myself, until I can find the perfect combination again of someone in my backyard who has my pace and goals. Any takers?
So this song has a great buildup and I had it in the middle of my little 10-minute push this weekend. Despite the fact that it's pretty quiet, it still had me zoned out and pushing hard.
This video is so Peter-Gabriel-esque which I heart.
It's just really good to run to. Alone. Because that's what I've been resorting to, since I lost my running buddy for the season. Poor Ana re-tore a previously-torn ACL. She's crushed. I'm bummed.
So it will be some running by myself, until I can find the perfect combination again of someone in my backyard who has my pace and goals. Any takers?
So this song has a great buildup and I had it in the middle of my little 10-minute push this weekend. Despite the fact that it's pretty quiet, it still had me zoned out and pushing hard.
This video is so Peter-Gabriel-esque which I heart.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Survival Guide
Oh, see? I'm being all cute again. Look at me thinking I'm in control of my time!
No sooner than I had typed that very phrase "ready for a little more," then things got INSANE.
First of all, Matt went out of town Monday through Wednesday to the eTech conference in Columbus. He was selected to go and it was quite an honor, because he's awesome. But I was definitely terrified about getting everyone dressed, with some semblance of hygiene, lunches and bags in hand out of the house by 7:05am by myself. Bug's been hit or miss lately in the morning and we have mornings where he's sleepy but relatively pleasant to mornings when he's a total bear and we hear things like "NO I WILL NOT WEAR THAT SHIRT!" and then he will run upstairs and put on Buzz Lightyear boxer shorts and a paint-covered hoodie and call that stylin'. All of which makes for very interesting mornings.
It was a 72-hour blur but I got it done. Single Parents out there....RESPECT. You are superhuman.
Then that obviously put me pretty far behind on not only school but workouts. Monday night was a struggle and a battle so I needed to work out. The trouble was that I couldn't get Bug completely in bed until about 9. So I finished my workout at 10:15. The good news: now able to do FOUR whole chinups! (but still no pull-ups....sigh) And I did some pretty fast pushes on the 'mill. But the bad news? I was WIRED until almost 1am. Then that threw me off Tuesday, and left me pretty much a pile of tears and exhaustion by Wednesday.
I did force myself out of the house to attend my buddy Dani's spin class Wednesday night. I came home a much happier person. I also told Matt that "exercise is my crack." Not that I know, of course. I'm just guessing.
Thursday and Friday were spent getting ready for Bean's 2nd Birthday party, which involved 35 people (10 of whom were under 6) and lots more craziness. I had to get all the monkey stuff ready for my little Monkey Bean.
 |
| Note: copious amounts of crock pots |
By Saturday, I was in need of a fix before the party or I was afraid I might explode and turn my frosting into a weapon of mass destruction. I set out for an hour run and FLEW! Talk about pent-up energy. I had to make it an even 7 miles, so I did just that in 1:00.49 for an average pace of 8:42. That is fast for me. Coach had me doing "10 minutes lower than tempo" and I was really hoping she meant "slower" and forgot the "s," but I manned up and decided to go faster than tempo. Tempo for me is about 8:00/miles, and I am pleased to report that I hit the 10 minutes with an average of 7:55. Yay me!
Boo me! I got home at 3:30. Party started at 4. So much for stretching! Or looking cute!
 |
They all had a hoppin' good time. |
And considering each one takes me 10-15 minutes to grade, I'm all, yes. Yes, I am.
So it got me thinking how a few years ago, this week would have RUINED me. I would have looked at this week as a complete and utter failure and a sign of my imminent demise. That surely I would never recover.
But now? I'm like, whatever. It's February, self. Chill. Tomorrow is Monday, and hallelujah for that! Clean slate! New week on WorkoutLog! Close the book on this week. Survival was the name of the game this week, and survive I did. Here's my advice to anyone out there with a couple of variables--I mean, kiddies--who is having a rough week. Meet me at Camera 2, please.
Hi.
It's me.
First of all, you're fine. Deep breath. This too shall pass.
Here's why you really shouldn't beat yourself up:
Life is unpredictable, and that's what makes it great. One lost week where you worked out less than you did at 39 weeks pregnant will NOT make or break your race in September, okay? So just stop. It won't. Remember when you told your husband that if your kid doesn't play soccer at age 4 this year it doesn't mean he'll automatically get cut from the high school team? Yeah. It's time to apply that mentality to yourself. Realize that when your kids are running around with pants on their head dancing, that this qualifies as one of those moments you don't want to miss. And just laugh. The DBQs, and the treadmill, will be there later.
Think about what you did do this week. How, in a basement full of baby doll shoes and Tomica cars, you busted out some serious diamond push-ups and FOUR! WHOLE! CHINUPS! INAROW! (and thought about a pull-up) and on Saturday you squeezed in a seriously fast run because you were serious, yo'. No one, and I mean NO ONE was going to take that run away from you. So you made it count. You poured your heart and soul into that run. Because in the end? That's the kind of stuff that gets you to the finish line. Not the missed minutes here and there. The heart and soul you put into the other minutes.
Love,
TST
 |
| And Bug... |
 |
| And my sweet little Bean, too. Happy birthday Emmy Bean--I love you. |
Monday, February 13, 2012
Course Maps
Sometimes, this stuff is hard. Just straight-up hard. And that's the honest truth.
I stopped reading parenting magazines, because I felt like they were just sort of giving me this unattainable expectation of what I should be doing. I should be making elaborate crafts. Consistently pushing phonics and using homemade flash cards for letter recognition. Feeding them locally grown and harvested produce and meat from the chickens and grass-fed cows in my backyard. And that is what you have to do to be a good mother, Amen.
(Because that's not me.)
I try. I do the best that I can. I love my two children more than my own life, and that is the honest to God truth. I would lay down in traffic for them. And that motivates every single action that I do every single day in my life. Quite simply, there was me before I had Bug and now there's me after Bug. The same person, but definitely not the same brain. I have been rewired, so to speak.
But I often feel, as I think maybe other moms do, that I'm not doing this right. That what I do isn't good enough. Unless I'm doing all of these things in said magazines I am clearly a failure. And in no case do these irrational feelings of inadequacy pop up faster for a mother than when her kid is THAT KID.
You know, that kid.
The one screaming. Kicking. Hysterical.
Like, say, at swimming lessons the past three weeks. Oh, yeah, that plan of mine? The one to swim while Bug's at lessons? Look at me, all cute with my plans. Kids have a funny way of doing that.
Kids are not plans. Kids are variables.
To be clear: Bug loves the water. LOVES. IT. He would live there if we let him. I have often posted pictures from our time at the beach and the pool. There is no fear at all of the water.
There is, however, a power struggle.
And I, my friends, am on the opposing end.
Bug doesn't want to take lessons just because. He's made that clear. And I've made it clear that he absolutely must learn how to swim. He doesn't need to compete. But he needs to learn. We spend so much time in the water that it's a safety issue. The past two years, lessons have been fun! No problem!
But he's decided that it's SO ON with these lessons NOW. Nevermind the past.
Normally, this has meant dragging his feet to the pool and then not participating in all of the lesson. We made it pretty clear that he needed to be safe and he needed to listen to his instructors. And take part in his lesson. The WHOLE lesson.
What ended up happening was a complete and utter public meltdown, screaming, kicking, crying, and absolute hysterics that literally radiated off every crevice in the extremely loud and not acoustically-sound indoor pool complex. When all else failed, I walked away (which was also at the urging of the lesson director, too), because I am fully aware this is an act for me and me only. There is no fear here. There is a very determined little boy who is trying to find his place in the world, which I love. But I have to change the behavior--not the spirit, though. I am down with that determination. That is completely okay with me. But the behavior had to stop.
So as I stood in the doorway trying not to cry, I of course doubted everything I've ever done. Am I doing this right? Am I pushing too hard? Not enough? Why can't I just do more of what the magazines and the "experts" say? And please, PLEASE can my kid stop making a scene? (Which, of course, he kind of did when I walked away, after, of course, all parents and lifeguards in attendance had seen my feeble attempts to stop the meltdown)
Suddenly a mom opened the door and came up to me.
"Are you the mom of the little boy who's so upset?"
Oh no. Here it goes. I'm going to get lambasted. Everything I do is wrong. I don't deserve to be here, I don't deserve anything. I'm a complete failure.
(Yes, that was exactly what went through my head at that moment. I honestly thought that she was there to berate me. That's how sad this attitude toward parenting has become--that everyone out there is just judging, judging, judging, and--)
"I just want to say you're doing a great job. You're doing the right thing. All of us are in there saying you're doing the right thing; that we really admire what you're doing--"
At this point, the tears flowed.
"Thank you," I whispered and smiled meekly. "I'm trying...I just...I just want him to be safe, that's all."
"I know you feel like crying," she said as she hugged me, "but you're doing the right thing."
Take that, magazines. We are all on the same team here.
I'm finding out daily what I already suspected to be true long before my little Bug arrived--that parenting is hard, that it's different for all of us, and that very often to do it well you have to sometimes have the meltdowns. You have to say, "NO. I know what's best for you now." And that is not exactly an easy thing to say, especially as they get older. I completely and honestly believe I am a better high school teacher now because I have two children. Obviously, you don't have to have children to be a good teacher--I don't want to give that impression at all. But for me, it really opened up a different level of understanding and compassion, especially when dealing with my at-risk students and their parents.
Ultimately, we just want them to be safe and happy. And we're really trying. That's all.
When I first signed up for Ironman, it was exciting. It was scary. It was, indeed, something I had no clue how to prepare for.
I'll never forget that first moment when I really doubted myself. On the Hill That Broke Me. I remember trying to ride up that hill and not being able to do it, and literally breaking down. But what if I can't do this? What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm doing it all wrong? Everyone else here knows more than me, they can get up this hill...surely they are all laughing at me.
I cried. I cried at the top of the hill, because I wasn't thinking about the fact that I made it. I was thinking how stupid I must look and how all these triathletes around me must think I'm the biggest weakling; that I have no business whatsoever signing up for an Ironman.
Of course, that's not at all how it is.
Triathletes are some of the most welcoming people in the universe. This is a sport where we're all on the same course. We all rack our bikes together in T1. And when we see someone struggling, we help them out. We tell them it's okay, that they're doing a great job, that if they just hang in there it's going to get better. Just keep moving forward.
I was reminded of how similar these two journeys are standing in that pool doorway, tears running down my cheeks. And when the lesson was over, and Bug saw me and immediately put on the act and stomped his feet and screamed "I DID NOT SWIM IN THE DEEP MOMMY! I SHOWED YOU! I DID NOT SWIM IN THE DEEP!" and I said, "yes, you're right, and that means you have chosen to go home now instead of play" and picked up all 46 pounds of him kicking, I was glad I'm strong. Glad I've had both that Hill that Makes Me Cry and this love that is so strong it makes me cry. Knowing that no meltdown is permanent, that no hill goes forever. And at the top there will always be a team willing to cheer me up or hand me a kleenax and give me a hug, depending upon the situation.
Someday, soon, I'll have a set that makes me doubt everything. A race that will end in flop. I'll be sitting on the side of the road, head in my hands, bike laying on the ground, wondering if I'm good enough.
And I can assure you, there will be more toddler meltdowns in the future, too.
But this girl is strong. This one trusts herself even if I have moments of weakness time to time. This one knows how far she's come and she's not about to stop in this race.
These courses may be different, but the finish lines are just as sweet.
I stopped reading parenting magazines, because I felt like they were just sort of giving me this unattainable expectation of what I should be doing. I should be making elaborate crafts. Consistently pushing phonics and using homemade flash cards for letter recognition. Feeding them locally grown and harvested produce and meat from the chickens and grass-fed cows in my backyard. And that is what you have to do to be a good mother, Amen.
(Because that's not me.)
I try. I do the best that I can. I love my two children more than my own life, and that is the honest to God truth. I would lay down in traffic for them. And that motivates every single action that I do every single day in my life. Quite simply, there was me before I had Bug and now there's me after Bug. The same person, but definitely not the same brain. I have been rewired, so to speak.
But I often feel, as I think maybe other moms do, that I'm not doing this right. That what I do isn't good enough. Unless I'm doing all of these things in said magazines I am clearly a failure. And in no case do these irrational feelings of inadequacy pop up faster for a mother than when her kid is THAT KID.
You know, that kid.
The one screaming. Kicking. Hysterical.
Like, say, at swimming lessons the past three weeks. Oh, yeah, that plan of mine? The one to swim while Bug's at lessons? Look at me, all cute with my plans. Kids have a funny way of doing that.
Kids are not plans. Kids are variables.
To be clear: Bug loves the water. LOVES. IT. He would live there if we let him. I have often posted pictures from our time at the beach and the pool. There is no fear at all of the water.
There is, however, a power struggle.
And I, my friends, am on the opposing end.
Bug doesn't want to take lessons just because. He's made that clear. And I've made it clear that he absolutely must learn how to swim. He doesn't need to compete. But he needs to learn. We spend so much time in the water that it's a safety issue. The past two years, lessons have been fun! No problem!
But he's decided that it's SO ON with these lessons NOW. Nevermind the past.
Normally, this has meant dragging his feet to the pool and then not participating in all of the lesson. We made it pretty clear that he needed to be safe and he needed to listen to his instructors. And take part in his lesson. The WHOLE lesson.
What ended up happening was a complete and utter public meltdown, screaming, kicking, crying, and absolute hysterics that literally radiated off every crevice in the extremely loud and not acoustically-sound indoor pool complex. When all else failed, I walked away (which was also at the urging of the lesson director, too), because I am fully aware this is an act for me and me only. There is no fear here. There is a very determined little boy who is trying to find his place in the world, which I love. But I have to change the behavior--not the spirit, though. I am down with that determination. That is completely okay with me. But the behavior had to stop.
So as I stood in the doorway trying not to cry, I of course doubted everything I've ever done. Am I doing this right? Am I pushing too hard? Not enough? Why can't I just do more of what the magazines and the "experts" say? And please, PLEASE can my kid stop making a scene? (Which, of course, he kind of did when I walked away, after, of course, all parents and lifeguards in attendance had seen my feeble attempts to stop the meltdown)
Suddenly a mom opened the door and came up to me.
"Are you the mom of the little boy who's so upset?"
Oh no. Here it goes. I'm going to get lambasted. Everything I do is wrong. I don't deserve to be here, I don't deserve anything. I'm a complete failure.
(Yes, that was exactly what went through my head at that moment. I honestly thought that she was there to berate me. That's how sad this attitude toward parenting has become--that everyone out there is just judging, judging, judging, and--)
"I just want to say you're doing a great job. You're doing the right thing. All of us are in there saying you're doing the right thing; that we really admire what you're doing--"
At this point, the tears flowed.
"Thank you," I whispered and smiled meekly. "I'm trying...I just...I just want him to be safe, that's all."
"I know you feel like crying," she said as she hugged me, "but you're doing the right thing."
Take that, magazines. We are all on the same team here.
I'm finding out daily what I already suspected to be true long before my little Bug arrived--that parenting is hard, that it's different for all of us, and that very often to do it well you have to sometimes have the meltdowns. You have to say, "NO. I know what's best for you now." And that is not exactly an easy thing to say, especially as they get older. I completely and honestly believe I am a better high school teacher now because I have two children. Obviously, you don't have to have children to be a good teacher--I don't want to give that impression at all. But for me, it really opened up a different level of understanding and compassion, especially when dealing with my at-risk students and their parents.
Ultimately, we just want them to be safe and happy. And we're really trying. That's all.
When I first signed up for Ironman, it was exciting. It was scary. It was, indeed, something I had no clue how to prepare for.
I'll never forget that first moment when I really doubted myself. On the Hill That Broke Me. I remember trying to ride up that hill and not being able to do it, and literally breaking down. But what if I can't do this? What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm doing it all wrong? Everyone else here knows more than me, they can get up this hill...surely they are all laughing at me.
I cried. I cried at the top of the hill, because I wasn't thinking about the fact that I made it. I was thinking how stupid I must look and how all these triathletes around me must think I'm the biggest weakling; that I have no business whatsoever signing up for an Ironman.
Of course, that's not at all how it is.
Triathletes are some of the most welcoming people in the universe. This is a sport where we're all on the same course. We all rack our bikes together in T1. And when we see someone struggling, we help them out. We tell them it's okay, that they're doing a great job, that if they just hang in there it's going to get better. Just keep moving forward.
I was reminded of how similar these two journeys are standing in that pool doorway, tears running down my cheeks. And when the lesson was over, and Bug saw me and immediately put on the act and stomped his feet and screamed "I DID NOT SWIM IN THE DEEP MOMMY! I SHOWED YOU! I DID NOT SWIM IN THE DEEP!" and I said, "yes, you're right, and that means you have chosen to go home now instead of play" and picked up all 46 pounds of him kicking, I was glad I'm strong. Glad I've had both that Hill that Makes Me Cry and this love that is so strong it makes me cry. Knowing that no meltdown is permanent, that no hill goes forever. And at the top there will always be a team willing to cheer me up or hand me a kleenax and give me a hug, depending upon the situation.
Someday, soon, I'll have a set that makes me doubt everything. A race that will end in flop. I'll be sitting on the side of the road, head in my hands, bike laying on the ground, wondering if I'm good enough.
And I can assure you, there will be more toddler meltdowns in the future, too.
But this girl is strong. This one trusts herself even if I have moments of weakness time to time. This one knows how far she's come and she's not about to stop in this race.
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Thursday, February 09, 2012
I'll Be Running for Sherry
When I first heard about Sherry Arnold, my stomach dropped.
A runner...mother...daughter...wife...and a teacher. Went out for her early-morning run, probably so that she would get her miles in and have a nice relaxing Saturday with her family.
Which is pretty much what I do every Saturday morning.
And one mile into her run, her life was violently, tragically, cut short.
This story has left me, as I'm sure it left many of you, with a wave of emotions. Sadness that brings tears to my eyes and takes my breath away and makes me stop and hold onto the side of the kitchen counter for a minute or two. Anger that this could happen to someone that seemed so giving, caring, and full of life. An empty feeling for her daughter and son and husband and grief at the hole that is in their hearts now, that will be forever.
I didn't know Sherry. But I feel like I run by her every Saturday morning, giving a quick breathless "hi" and a smile as we pass on the sidewalk and chase our own weekly finish lines.
I experienced a sudden, violent, tragic loss to our community in October, 1989, when my classmate's little sister was kidnapped from the Baskin Robbin's right across the street from our police station in our tiny, extremely safe town. He told Amy that he was going to take her shopping. For a present for her mom's promotion. She even called her mother a few minutes after she got in his car to tell her she was home and safe and sound.
Amy's body was found in February--by a runner, early in the morning. Her killer was never found. And I saw what that did to a brother. A family. A community. I didn't know Amy, either. I probably walked by her in the hallway a million times. Maybe we even stood next to each other in the lunchroom.
Even to this day, I think about Amy and how she'd be 33 now. I think of the amazing, wonderful things I've been blessed to do and get to do every day, the career I enjoy, the husband I love, and the children that make my world, and how Amy wasn't allowed to have any of these things. I try to honor her memory by living as fully as I can.
I do believe that Amy and Sherry are together now, in a place much better than this one I'm in. And it's a reminder that we all live parallel lives. We're all passing each other in the hallway every day. We're all getting our run in early as the sun rises so we can feel our heart beat faster and breathe the morning air and come home--home--to love and breakfast and the rest of our Saturdays. Our lives.
So I'll be running for Sherry Saturday. I hope you join me.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
The TST Playlist, 7/100
So I have this group of girls. We're pretty tight. And awesome. At least, we think so.
We've been through a ton together--lots of laughing, lots of things not appropriate for a public blog, pancake fights, tart fights, obnoxiously-loud-stumbling-home-walks to 15 E. Vine Street, annoying sorority-rushs songs, late nights, heartaches, weddings, races, babies, and lots and lots of laughs.
These are my Nutter girls.
Sometimes when I'm with them I end up doing things like this:
We've been through a ton together--lots of laughing, lots of things not appropriate for a public blog, pancake fights, tart fights, obnoxiously-loud-stumbling-home-walks to 15 E. Vine Street, annoying sorority-rushs songs, late nights, heartaches, weddings, races, babies, and lots and lots of laughs.
These are my Nutter girls.
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| Cerveza and I on Bourbon Street after IM New Orleans 70.3, 2009 |
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| Me, TBone, and Jacks the night before WIBA, 2008 |
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| Okay, so sometimes our guy friends can tag along...me, my buddy Sam, and Nutter Po in the front, 10 year Miami Reunion, 2009 |
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| Po, TBone, Me, Jacks, Lush, Hedda, and Cerveza, at Jacks' wedding, 2010 |
Sometimes when I'm with them I end up doing things like this:
Regardless, we'd been through it all. Everything you could go through, we did.
Or so we thought.
Tomorrow, my heart will be with my Nutter TBone. All of our hearts will. Because she's been through--she's going through--something no one should ever have to do. My other awesome buddy E posted this song a few weeks ago and immediately it made me think of TBone. Because this song made me happy, and it made me think of all the times I have had so far with these girls, and that we've always got each other's backs no matter what.
Love you, Bone.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Well, not what I expected, but I guess better than the alternative
So the plan was to run with Ana today, then take the kids to swim lessons, then splash around all morning and grab lunch on the way home. Grade all the AP tests during naptime, and relax with the hubby in the evening.
Here's how it went:
So yeah. My wonderfully planned day got shot to hell. But I guess given a choice of this or stomach flu, I'll take this. I'm really hoping that this means I won't get the stomach flu, even though I threw myself under the puke bus Tuesday night. Pretty much every kid at the babysitter's got it, and now my friend's other kid AND her got it, too!
Evil evil evil stomach bug.
Speaking of Bug, he was so sweet and kept trying to give me hugs so I would "feel all better and play now." I wish it worked that way!
Hoping this clears up ASAP because I was just starting to get in a rhythm with workouts before this week! A toast with an OJ-ginger ale cocktail, anyone?
Here's how it went:
- Felt like I was hit by a ton of bricks at about 7pm last night. Passed out.
- Texted Ana at 6am telling her I'd be really really stupid if I tried to run. Thought about maybe swimming.
- Woke up at 8:30am with my head throbbing and unable to breathe.
- Realized swimming with a sinus infection would be kind of a death wish.
- Felt sorry for myself.
- Slept all freaking day while Matt was with the kids.
- Missed them all a ton.
- Demanded a Saturday do-over, but no one was really able to make this happen.
- Threw back one more Nalgene of Emergen-C, water, or OJ/ginger ale. Lost track of what is what since I can't taste it anyway.
So yeah. My wonderfully planned day got shot to hell. But I guess given a choice of this or stomach flu, I'll take this. I'm really hoping that this means I won't get the stomach flu, even though I threw myself under the puke bus Tuesday night. Pretty much every kid at the babysitter's got it, and now my friend's other kid AND her got it, too!
Evil evil evil stomach bug.
Speaking of Bug, he was so sweet and kept trying to give me hugs so I would "feel all better and play now." I wish it worked that way!
Hoping this clears up ASAP because I was just starting to get in a rhythm with workouts before this week! A toast with an OJ-ginger ale cocktail, anyone?
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
YEAH! And, NOOOOOOOO.
Tuesday early morning swim ended up with something I never in a million years thought that I would have.
I bet Coach Emily will fall over when I tell her this.
I had MORE TIME! Yes, MORE. With an M! As in, MAS TIEMPO!
So I sat there in the pool for a bit and knew exactly what I needed to do.
Bust out another 500, homies.
So I did!
Still made it to school with time to spare. So excited!
Then, last night I got all ready to do a little evening P90X--some Ab Ripper, some chin-ups (unassisted--yes!) and pull-ups (massively assisted...but someday I will do one!), and a bit of lower body stuff. Gave the kiddies baths, rocked Bean to sleep, and then....
SPLAT. SPLATSPLATSPLAT.
Yes, that is the sound of puke. All over me. All over everything.
Sigh.
Turns out that 2 other kids at the babysitter's aside from Bean were also in the SPLAT club last night. Which meant, of course, the inevitable.
Bug hurling from about 11pm-5am. Me crying, changing sheets and blankets and rubbing backs all night long. Wondering how I'm even going to begin to get un-buried from work. And hopefully not hurl.
In the past 16 hours or so I have been hurled on no less than 4 times. This will be a true test of my immunity. I feel a bit like Dead Man Walking over here. Now everyone is finally asleep, and I should really try to dig through a pile of grading.
But I can barely keep my eyes open.
Guess that means it's time to adjust the weekly workouts...and cross my fingers that I don't get this, too!
But at least I had that extra 500.
I bet Coach Emily will fall over when I tell her this.
I had MORE TIME! Yes, MORE. With an M! As in, MAS TIEMPO!
So I sat there in the pool for a bit and knew exactly what I needed to do.
Bust out another 500, homies.
So I did!
Still made it to school with time to spare. So excited!
Then, last night I got all ready to do a little evening P90X--some Ab Ripper, some chin-ups (unassisted--yes!) and pull-ups (massively assisted...but someday I will do one!), and a bit of lower body stuff. Gave the kiddies baths, rocked Bean to sleep, and then....
SPLAT. SPLATSPLATSPLAT.
Yes, that is the sound of puke. All over me. All over everything.
Sigh.
Turns out that 2 other kids at the babysitter's aside from Bean were also in the SPLAT club last night. Which meant, of course, the inevitable.
Bug hurling from about 11pm-5am. Me crying, changing sheets and blankets and rubbing backs all night long. Wondering how I'm even going to begin to get un-buried from work. And hopefully not hurl.
In the past 16 hours or so I have been hurled on no less than 4 times. This will be a true test of my immunity. I feel a bit like Dead Man Walking over here. Now everyone is finally asleep, and I should really try to dig through a pile of grading.
But I can barely keep my eyes open.
Guess that means it's time to adjust the weekly workouts...and cross my fingers that I don't get this, too!
But at least I had that extra 500.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Welcome to the Family, Matt!
SO excited to finally be able to shout,
CONGRATS TO MATT INCH, THE NEWEST MEMBER OF TEAM EVOTRI!
Matt, welcome to the family! We are very excited to have you!
You can see all about Matt and watch his impressive video, here.
I am SO EXCITED for our training camp in April in Chattanooga, TN, too! We'll be hanging with our fabulous sponsors, Quintana Roo and Hub Endurance, as well as generally causing all kinds of shenanigans. I plan on working out until I collapse and also laughing until I collapse.
This season is going to RAWK. Congrats, Matt, and welcome to the team!
CONGRATS TO MATT INCH, THE NEWEST MEMBER OF TEAM EVOTRI!
Matt, welcome to the family! We are very excited to have you!
You can see all about Matt and watch his impressive video, here.
I am SO EXCITED for our training camp in April in Chattanooga, TN, too! We'll be hanging with our fabulous sponsors, Quintana Roo and Hub Endurance, as well as generally causing all kinds of shenanigans. I plan on working out until I collapse and also laughing until I collapse.
This season is going to RAWK. Congrats, Matt, and welcome to the team!
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Best Laid Plans
Well, had one of those days that required a lot of flexibility HELP yesterday. One that is funny now, but at the time? Not so much.
A reminder that you've gotta role with the punches, for sure.
So I had a grand plan. My plan is to swim once during the week and once on Saturday while Bug takes his swim lesson. It's perfect, right? He has his lesson and I swim in the pool that's 10 feet away. It would be a short swim, but still--better than nothing! And lately I've been doing a whole lot of nothing when it came to swimming. Which made me sad. Because I am not a duathlete. Or a runner. I am TOTALLY a triathlete at heart and I NEED TO SWIM. (BTW, Mary's got a fabulous post in her hilarious, no-nonsense, Mary style about why swimming is, indeed, important, for triathletes, despite what you may have heard. LOVE.)
So here's what the plan was for Saturday:
Bug and I head to the pool for swim lessons
He has his first indoor swim lesson
I swim 2000 yards
MEANWHILE...
Matt and Bean head to Target to pick up a Strawberry Shortcake present for a 4th birthday party
Then, they come back to get us, as we are all changed and dry
Okay, first of all, let's just start with the obvious flaws. That is ENTIRELY too many things to accomplish in one hour when you have a four year old and a one year old. Seriously. Am I on crack?
But the main thing I didn't factor in?
It's Bug's FIRST day of swim lessons. Bug HATES the first day of ANYTHING. Well, really, the first 15 minutes. After that? He's having a grand old time. But I should have learned my lesson after swim lessons the past few years, the first day of preschool, etc. I know better. The first 15 minutes are not going to be fun. But the thing is, it's worse if I'm around. So then I have to slink away in the shadows and worry that people think I'm horrible for not hovering helicopter-style over Bug. But I know that he really does better if I back off, so I do.
(But that doesn't stop the MommyGuilt Monster from creeping in, since I can't just grab a megaphone and explain to the crowd, "No, really, he does better if I leave! I swear!")
So instead of me seamlessly slipping into the lap lane to crank out 2000 yards, I helped Bug and coaxed him over to the class. I reminded him how he asked, no, BEGGED me for lessons in "the lesson pool," so he could learn how to "swim in the deep." He wasn't having any of it.
So then I tried the whole "walk away" thing. And it worked...for him. Not for me, though. I felt horrible for even thinking about swimming. I frantically called Matt for backup. He brought Bean back and then I felt comfortable attempting a swim.
Trouble was, Bean was in her winter coat. And wanted to swim. NOW.
So, needless to say, I cut the workout short, and looked every few breaths to make sure a) Bug was okay and 2) poor Matt wasn't chasing Bean in the pool fully clothed. Luckily, they have an indoor playground, too, so Bean could run without water involved.
This, my friends, is what you call a supportive husband. Sometimes, people ask how I am able to train with two little ones and a full time job, and my answer is, him. Always him. There's absolutely no way I could pull this off without him, because he knows how important this stuff is to me. So he makes it work, just like I make his soccer tournaments work. We do it because it's part of who we are, so when I frantically call him when he's in the Target parking lot and say, "please, please...I need help" he is always there. He knew how hard it's been for me to get to the pool and when this plan came unraveling he didn't hesitate to change his plans and come back...and I'm so grateful.
After the (shorter) workout, Bug begged to stay and play. I had told him he could only if he listened to his teachers, and he swore to me that he played "Red Light, Green Light" and kicked with the kids in class, which he did. So it really, truly was only the first 15 minutes that was the rough patch, the "no-I-don't-wanna-do-this" whimpers, the part where half of me wanted to just make him feel better and take him away and the other half knows that's not the right thing to do. Because he needs to learn how to swim, for safety's sake. And also, he loves it. And after that 15 minutes, he did love it. He couldn't stop talking about it the rest of the day--how the one little guy in his class had a Batman towel, or how he did "animal jumps" with Coach Anna.
And that Strawberry Shortcake thing? We got it on our way home. It all worked out, like it always does.
Someday soon, he'll take off running full speed ahead without me. Without even a second glance. And I'll miss these days, when he needed me and when I was afraid to walk away, even though I knew it was what he needed me to do. And those first 15 minutes? When he gets on that school bus? When he drives away in that car?
I'm pretty sure it will be a lot worse for me than for him. But I've got the best team around to help me out.
A reminder that you've gotta role with the punches, for sure.
So I had a grand plan. My plan is to swim once during the week and once on Saturday while Bug takes his swim lesson. It's perfect, right? He has his lesson and I swim in the pool that's 10 feet away. It would be a short swim, but still--better than nothing! And lately I've been doing a whole lot of nothing when it came to swimming. Which made me sad. Because I am not a duathlete. Or a runner. I am TOTALLY a triathlete at heart and I NEED TO SWIM. (BTW, Mary's got a fabulous post in her hilarious, no-nonsense, Mary style about why swimming is, indeed, important, for triathletes, despite what you may have heard. LOVE.)
So here's what the plan was for Saturday:
Bug and I head to the pool for swim lessons
He has his first indoor swim lesson
I swim 2000 yards
MEANWHILE...
Matt and Bean head to Target to pick up a Strawberry Shortcake present for a 4th birthday party
Then, they come back to get us, as we are all changed and dry
Okay, first of all, let's just start with the obvious flaws. That is ENTIRELY too many things to accomplish in one hour when you have a four year old and a one year old. Seriously. Am I on crack?
But the main thing I didn't factor in?
It's Bug's FIRST day of swim lessons. Bug HATES the first day of ANYTHING. Well, really, the first 15 minutes. After that? He's having a grand old time. But I should have learned my lesson after swim lessons the past few years, the first day of preschool, etc. I know better. The first 15 minutes are not going to be fun. But the thing is, it's worse if I'm around. So then I have to slink away in the shadows and worry that people think I'm horrible for not hovering helicopter-style over Bug. But I know that he really does better if I back off, so I do.
(But that doesn't stop the MommyGuilt Monster from creeping in, since I can't just grab a megaphone and explain to the crowd, "No, really, he does better if I leave! I swear!")
So instead of me seamlessly slipping into the lap lane to crank out 2000 yards, I helped Bug and coaxed him over to the class. I reminded him how he asked, no, BEGGED me for lessons in "the lesson pool," so he could learn how to "swim in the deep." He wasn't having any of it.
So then I tried the whole "walk away" thing. And it worked...for him. Not for me, though. I felt horrible for even thinking about swimming. I frantically called Matt for backup. He brought Bean back and then I felt comfortable attempting a swim.
Trouble was, Bean was in her winter coat. And wanted to swim. NOW.
So, needless to say, I cut the workout short, and looked every few breaths to make sure a) Bug was okay and 2) poor Matt wasn't chasing Bean in the pool fully clothed. Luckily, they have an indoor playground, too, so Bean could run without water involved.
This, my friends, is what you call a supportive husband. Sometimes, people ask how I am able to train with two little ones and a full time job, and my answer is, him. Always him. There's absolutely no way I could pull this off without him, because he knows how important this stuff is to me. So he makes it work, just like I make his soccer tournaments work. We do it because it's part of who we are, so when I frantically call him when he's in the Target parking lot and say, "please, please...I need help" he is always there. He knew how hard it's been for me to get to the pool and when this plan came unraveling he didn't hesitate to change his plans and come back...and I'm so grateful.
After the (shorter) workout, Bug begged to stay and play. I had told him he could only if he listened to his teachers, and he swore to me that he played "Red Light, Green Light" and kicked with the kids in class, which he did. So it really, truly was only the first 15 minutes that was the rough patch, the "no-I-don't-wanna-do-this" whimpers, the part where half of me wanted to just make him feel better and take him away and the other half knows that's not the right thing to do. Because he needs to learn how to swim, for safety's sake. And also, he loves it. And after that 15 minutes, he did love it. He couldn't stop talking about it the rest of the day--how the one little guy in his class had a Batman towel, or how he did "animal jumps" with Coach Anna.
And that Strawberry Shortcake thing? We got it on our way home. It all worked out, like it always does.
Someday soon, he'll take off running full speed ahead without me. Without even a second glance. And I'll miss these days, when he needed me and when I was afraid to walk away, even though I knew it was what he needed me to do. And those first 15 minutes? When he gets on that school bus? When he drives away in that car?
I'm pretty sure it will be a lot worse for me than for him. But I've got the best team around to help me out.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
The TST Playlist, 5/100
Okay, sorry for any dudes that are reading this. But for my Janet fans--Miss Jackson, if you're NASTAYYYY--I had to put this up on the playlist.
HOW did I forget how amazing Janet is until my buddy Dani put it on our spin playlist last night?!?! I got a big smile on my face and almost had to get off the bike to do the sweet dance break at the end.
This song also made me laugh because back in the day we really wanted to use it as entertainment for a halftime show as a dance. And then our advisor actually LISTENED to the lyrics. Aw HELL NO. Not what you'd call "school appropriate" for a bunch of 16 year olds to dance to in polyester blue skirts.
However, SO APPROPRIATE if you want to jam out on a ride.
The video is so deliciously, ridiculously 1993 awesome, though. So, enjoy.
HOW did I forget how amazing Janet is until my buddy Dani put it on our spin playlist last night?!?! I got a big smile on my face and almost had to get off the bike to do the sweet dance break at the end.
This song also made me laugh because back in the day we really wanted to use it as entertainment for a halftime show as a dance. And then our advisor actually LISTENED to the lyrics. Aw HELL NO. Not what you'd call "school appropriate" for a bunch of 16 year olds to dance to in polyester blue skirts.
However, SO APPROPRIATE if you want to jam out on a ride.
The video is so deliciously, ridiculously 1993 awesome, though. So, enjoy.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Operation Swim with the Fishies
So this morning was my swim morning.
You could say I was a *little* nervous to try it all out and time it all up.
How nervous, you ask?
Nervous enough to wake up automatically at 4:FREAKING10 AM. Thank you, internal clock. FOR BEING PSYCHO.
Anyway, I found out something very, very exciting. The pool opens AT 5:30! Yahooooooooooooooooyippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! That 15 minutes is seriously key. It means I can probably hit 3000 yards and still be out of the water in time to shower quickly and come home and put Bean's hair in piggies.
(This is the most important task of the day. Baby Girl has a bit of a mullet goin' on, and lest she be confused with this:
...I need to put her hair in some piggies, yo.)
The best part was that the high schoolers showed up, sleepy-eyed, at 6, so I got to see a few of my kids there which was fun. And I made a good solid attempt to hang onto their feet in the lane next to me, which considering they were swimming, like, 10 people to a lane and I was sharing with one other girl, was not quite as much of an accomplishment as it would be if I was in their lane. But I was still excited to be close!
2200 yards and time to SPARE, homies. Bring it.
I will leave you with one of life's great mysteries....why is it that I feel like drowning and that I can't BREATHE when I do backstroke and my face is OUT OF THE WATER, yet in freestyle I breathe just fine?
Discuss amongst yourselves.
Happy training!
You could say I was a *little* nervous to try it all out and time it all up.
How nervous, you ask?
Nervous enough to wake up automatically at 4:FREAKING10 AM. Thank you, internal clock. FOR BEING PSYCHO.
Anyway, I found out something very, very exciting. The pool opens AT 5:30! Yahooooooooooooooooyippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! That 15 minutes is seriously key. It means I can probably hit 3000 yards and still be out of the water in time to shower quickly and come home and put Bean's hair in piggies.
(This is the most important task of the day. Baby Girl has a bit of a mullet goin' on, and lest she be confused with this:
...I need to put her hair in some piggies, yo.)
The best part was that the high schoolers showed up, sleepy-eyed, at 6, so I got to see a few of my kids there which was fun. And I made a good solid attempt to hang onto their feet in the lane next to me, which considering they were swimming, like, 10 people to a lane and I was sharing with one other girl, was not quite as much of an accomplishment as it would be if I was in their lane. But I was still excited to be close!
2200 yards and time to SPARE, homies. Bring it.
I will leave you with one of life's great mysteries....why is it that I feel like drowning and that I can't BREATHE when I do backstroke and my face is OUT OF THE WATER, yet in freestyle I breathe just fine?
Discuss amongst yourselves.
Happy training!
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Monster
He makes an appearance quite often.
The MommyGuilt Monster. I kind of think he looks like this:
(Credit: Cute Monster by ~WotansKriegerin on deviantART)
And this is a small sampling of what he says:
"RAWR. You should work. You should stay at home. You're not good enough. Nothing you do is right. You work out too much. You don't work out enough. Why don't you make more crafts? Why don't you cut their sandwiches into the shape of an elaborate pirate ship with sails and action figures? Why did you allow them to eat a french fry and non-organic chicken? RAWR WORSTMOTHEREVERRAWR!"
As much as I know that he makes no sense, I still hear him. Quite often. And the funny thing is, once I make peace with him, ignore him, and move on, he seems to go away. He's like the one bad kid in the room that wants all the attention, but when no one pays attention, he actually shuts up, you know?
Swimming has been difficult lately. Like, nonexistent. Because MommyGuilt Monster was rawring all over my attempts to swim. But what if I'm not around in the morning as much before school? But what if I go after school and Matt has to pick the kids up? BUT?! BUTBUTBUT! Life CANNOT go on without ME! ME ME ME
(MommyGuilt Monster is really about validation, sometimes.)
The funny thing? That things CAN go on without me. And go quite well, after all. That my husband is an amazing father, and doesn't need me to hover like an annoying insect whispering, "Do you need me to help? Should I get her socks? Did you remember their lunches?"
No. No. And YES ALREADY!
Here's a classic example. I was really, really going to try and swim Friday morning. The goal was to pack up the bag and go to the pool and then go straight to work, which is about a block away from the pool. There is no good reason I haven't been swimming. I practically work in the building. But I haven't, and it's mostly because of Monster and how he won't shut up about me "missing it." "It" being time, space, minutes, seconds, breakfast, WHATEVER.
It took me about 348,942 minutes to pack everything up. I got annoyed. I grumbled.
And then it appeared.
Rawr. You won't see the kids before school. You're a MONSTER. They will not survive the day.
So then, at about 11:30pm, I changed my mind. I'd go, come home and shower and see the kids off, and then go to work.
Yeah! That's a good idea!
But the Monster got louder.
WORST idea ever, RAWR. They won't see you for more than a few minutes. RAWR. That's not quality time RAWRRAWRRAWR. MOMMYFAIL.
Before I knew it, it was 2:03am and I was still wide awake. Panicking. That if I wasn't around EVERY second in the morning, the world would cease to spin on its axis.
See? Irrational. But that's how the Monster works.
So what ended up happening, you ask?
I was so exhausted I slept in and was almost late--thank goodness Matt came in to wake me up! No swim. And, the kids were already dressed and in the car, with their lunches and blankies.
So that precious important time that Monster told me I'd be a failure if I missed?
I missed it anyway. AND my swim.
I thought about it a lot Friday. It seems that Monster has a way of making me feel guilty about things that really don't need guilt about. Yes, I've been at this for almost 4 1/2 years. No, that's not news. But I'm really going to try and be better about letting Monster in my head.
I swam after school. It was awesome. I remembered how much I love the pool, and how much I'm a TRIATHLETE and not a runner or a cyclist or a duathlete. And to be a triathlete requires swimming, which I love anyway, and I need to make this work for me.
That when I have that short time--just 40 minutes, even--in the pool, it reminds me of summer and the beach and races, and it makes me happy. And that, in turn, makes me a better mother.
So here's what I'm going to do, at least once during the week:
Swim from 5:45-6:25am. Yes, it's short. But I can do some harder sets in there, and I'm going to have to live by the philosophy "quality over quantity" for a while, because that's my life at the present time.
Quick shower until 6:35.
Home by 6:45am. See kids off and put Bean's hair in piggies.
Dry hair, change, coffee. Out the door by 7:30am. Back to my school, which is 0.5 miles from the pool. But doing it this way will allow me not to have to pack EVERYTHING in the free world, and I'll get to see the kids in the morning, which, let's be honest, is probably more important to me than to them. I'm pretty sure they're happy to see me whenever it is, YOU HEAR ME, MONSTER?
MommyGuilt Monster is one powerful, loud, SOB. I may not be able to drown him out entirely, but I'm going to try. I'm going to do my best to ignore him and look the other way and remember that sometimes giving up a few frantic, "did you brush your teeth?" minutes in the morning will lead to many more quality minutes later in the day. And that it's important for me to continue doing things I love as much as I can. To show my kids that it's important, too. And to set a good example for them on how to stay active, even if you have to get creative in the process.
Be gone, Monster. I took my cuties to see an Eric Carle stories play this morning downtown at Playhouse Theater, then lunch at Chick Fil-A (Bug's favorite treat), and now one's napping and the other's playing with his daddy. You can't tell me I'm doing this wrong. You can't tell me I'm not good enough. Well, you might try, but I sure as hell am NOT going to listen.
And anyway, I'm off to the pool.
The MommyGuilt Monster. I kind of think he looks like this:
(Credit: Cute Monster by ~WotansKriegerin on deviantART)
At first glance, he looks cute, no? But don't be fooled. He is one passive-aggressive MOFO. I know he doesn't make any sense. I fully understand that he is irrational, and what he says MAKES. NO. SENSE.
"RAWR. You should work. You should stay at home. You're not good enough. Nothing you do is right. You work out too much. You don't work out enough. Why don't you make more crafts? Why don't you cut their sandwiches into the shape of an elaborate pirate ship with sails and action figures? Why did you allow them to eat a french fry and non-organic chicken? RAWR WORSTMOTHEREVERRAWR!"
As much as I know that he makes no sense, I still hear him. Quite often. And the funny thing is, once I make peace with him, ignore him, and move on, he seems to go away. He's like the one bad kid in the room that wants all the attention, but when no one pays attention, he actually shuts up, you know?
Swimming has been difficult lately. Like, nonexistent. Because MommyGuilt Monster was rawring all over my attempts to swim. But what if I'm not around in the morning as much before school? But what if I go after school and Matt has to pick the kids up? BUT?! BUTBUTBUT! Life CANNOT go on without ME! ME ME ME
(MommyGuilt Monster is really about validation, sometimes.)
The funny thing? That things CAN go on without me. And go quite well, after all. That my husband is an amazing father, and doesn't need me to hover like an annoying insect whispering, "Do you need me to help? Should I get her socks? Did you remember their lunches?"
No. No. And YES ALREADY!
Here's a classic example. I was really, really going to try and swim Friday morning. The goal was to pack up the bag and go to the pool and then go straight to work, which is about a block away from the pool. There is no good reason I haven't been swimming. I practically work in the building. But I haven't, and it's mostly because of Monster and how he won't shut up about me "missing it." "It" being time, space, minutes, seconds, breakfast, WHATEVER.
It took me about 348,942 minutes to pack everything up. I got annoyed. I grumbled.
And then it appeared.
Rawr. You won't see the kids before school. You're a MONSTER. They will not survive the day.
So then, at about 11:30pm, I changed my mind. I'd go, come home and shower and see the kids off, and then go to work.
Yeah! That's a good idea!
But the Monster got louder.
WORST idea ever, RAWR. They won't see you for more than a few minutes. RAWR. That's not quality time RAWRRAWRRAWR. MOMMYFAIL.
Before I knew it, it was 2:03am and I was still wide awake. Panicking. That if I wasn't around EVERY second in the morning, the world would cease to spin on its axis.
See? Irrational. But that's how the Monster works.
So what ended up happening, you ask?
I was so exhausted I slept in and was almost late--thank goodness Matt came in to wake me up! No swim. And, the kids were already dressed and in the car, with their lunches and blankies.
So that precious important time that Monster told me I'd be a failure if I missed?
I missed it anyway. AND my swim.
I thought about it a lot Friday. It seems that Monster has a way of making me feel guilty about things that really don't need guilt about. Yes, I've been at this for almost 4 1/2 years. No, that's not news. But I'm really going to try and be better about letting Monster in my head.
I swam after school. It was awesome. I remembered how much I love the pool, and how much I'm a TRIATHLETE and not a runner or a cyclist or a duathlete. And to be a triathlete requires swimming, which I love anyway, and I need to make this work for me.
That when I have that short time--just 40 minutes, even--in the pool, it reminds me of summer and the beach and races, and it makes me happy. And that, in turn, makes me a better mother.
So here's what I'm going to do, at least once during the week:
Swim from 5:45-6:25am. Yes, it's short. But I can do some harder sets in there, and I'm going to have to live by the philosophy "quality over quantity" for a while, because that's my life at the present time.
Quick shower until 6:35.
Home by 6:45am. See kids off and put Bean's hair in piggies.
Dry hair, change, coffee. Out the door by 7:30am. Back to my school, which is 0.5 miles from the pool. But doing it this way will allow me not to have to pack EVERYTHING in the free world, and I'll get to see the kids in the morning, which, let's be honest, is probably more important to me than to them. I'm pretty sure they're happy to see me whenever it is, YOU HEAR ME, MONSTER?
MommyGuilt Monster is one powerful, loud, SOB. I may not be able to drown him out entirely, but I'm going to try. I'm going to do my best to ignore him and look the other way and remember that sometimes giving up a few frantic, "did you brush your teeth?" minutes in the morning will lead to many more quality minutes later in the day. And that it's important for me to continue doing things I love as much as I can. To show my kids that it's important, too. And to set a good example for them on how to stay active, even if you have to get creative in the process.
Be gone, Monster. I took my cuties to see an Eric Carle stories play this morning downtown at Playhouse Theater, then lunch at Chick Fil-A (Bug's favorite treat), and now one's napping and the other's playing with his daddy. You can't tell me I'm doing this wrong. You can't tell me I'm not good enough. Well, you might try, but I sure as hell am NOT going to listen.
And anyway, I'm off to the pool.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Race Report: Run for Regis Trail Half Marathon
Or, "The It's Really Nine Degrees?! Half Marathon...
Or, the "This Sounded Like a Really Good Idea in October" Half Marathon...
Or, "Trails are Hella Hard But Pretty Amazing" Half Marathon.
So Saturday night, I had an amazing time with some super awesome people. It was so fun to hang out with some friends and very much needed after a really busy last-week-of-the-semester. The alarm clock went off WAAAAY too early for a Sunday, but it was go time!
Whoa. MORE snow. We got dumped on this week, which I was actually kind of excited about on Friday. Because, see, I attempted to run the trails with Ana, Laura, TriEric and Aimee, Dale, Patty, and Tina last weekend, and let's just say it didn't go so well. Poor Laura slid down a hill with all the mud and was COVERED. A few of us bailed and just decided to run on the roads since we were mostly walking through swampy mud, and the thought ran in my head of, "How the heck am I going to do this next weekend for a HALF MARATHON?" I was pretty sure it scared Ana off big time and she was going to join the Witness Protection Program on race morning if things didn't change.
So freezing temperatures and snow? Very much welcome by me on Friday and Saturday.
Not so much on race morning, though.
We headed out and due to a BIG mistake on my part, we got a little lost. DOH! No worries, right? It's a laid back race, right?
Um, yeah, but you still need to be there IN TIME FOR THE START.
We arrived literally three minutes before the start. We frantically jumped out, grabbed our schtuff, peed, and made it by about 10 seconds to the start line. I found Brandy and the four of us: Ana, Brandy, Jen, and I, set out for a nice little "Happy Birthday Winter Hike With Friends" which is what I was calling it since it was Jen's birthday (yay!), I was grossly undertrained and hadn't ran more than 8 or maybe 9 miles, it was NINE degrees according to Jen's car, and we were all there with friends.
So we took off on our little winter adventure!
It was beautiful. Really, seriously beautiful. Here is a link to the official FB page of all the pictures, so HUGE props to the volunteers like my buddy Lloyd who I saw snapping away on the course! His photos can be found here--thanks, Lloyd! The volunteers were seriously amazing--stocking the aid stations with "hot and cold" tables full of everything under the sun, making sure the course was clearly marked, and just being awesome. It really made this run super fun.
And hard. And not as bad as I thought, and then hard again. And with some killer hills and technical trails. Garmin says 1,130 feet of elevation gain.
(OUCHY. That's the sound of my quads ripping apart and my right hammy barking at me.)
I saw tons of snow covered trees, lots of snow covered running buddies, amazing volunteers, and a few signs that said "STEEP GRADE" which meant, oh yeah baby it's ON in about 12 seconds. And then ouch! But in a good way.
The last time I attempted this course, the snow was so deep and it was my first long trail race so I made the decision to bail at the first loop's end at mile 8. So if I could finish this one, I'd be pretty happy. And finish we did! Brandy, Jen, and Ana killed it and I dragged along about a minute behind as my legs and lungs revolted a little bit on the last climb out (yeah--forgot my inhaler AGAIN. me=stupid). Ana has officially been introduced to the world of trail running and did AMAZING. So proud of her! Jen and Brandy killed it as usual, too. It was so fun to run with these girls!
I finished in about 2:40 by my watch (not counting our approximate 6 minute stops total for 2 aid stations) for an average pace of just about 12 minutes/mile, which I am SO happy about considering I had to walk most of the uphills. And there were quite a few of them, too!
Afterwards I had a bowl of delicious vegan chili provided by the volunteers and some conversation with good friends!
And now, it's almost time for this:
So get out there and play in the snow! Remember, there's no such thing as bad weather....only bad gear. :)
Huge congrats also go out to my girl Daisy who tied for first overall in the 50K! 50K in those conditions = HONEY BADGER. Amazing. Well-done, Daisy! And I KNOW she's drinking a cold one tonight, cuz that's how she rolls.
Or, the "This Sounded Like a Really Good Idea in October" Half Marathon...
Or, "Trails are Hella Hard But Pretty Amazing" Half Marathon.
So Saturday night, I had an amazing time with some super awesome people. It was so fun to hang out with some friends and very much needed after a really busy last-week-of-the-semester. The alarm clock went off WAAAAY too early for a Sunday, but it was go time!
Whoa. MORE snow. We got dumped on this week, which I was actually kind of excited about on Friday. Because, see, I attempted to run the trails with Ana, Laura, TriEric and Aimee, Dale, Patty, and Tina last weekend, and let's just say it didn't go so well. Poor Laura slid down a hill with all the mud and was COVERED. A few of us bailed and just decided to run on the roads since we were mostly walking through swampy mud, and the thought ran in my head of, "How the heck am I going to do this next weekend for a HALF MARATHON?" I was pretty sure it scared Ana off big time and she was going to join the Witness Protection Program on race morning if things didn't change.
So freezing temperatures and snow? Very much welcome by me on Friday and Saturday.
Not so much on race morning, though.
 |
| This is my "what the HELL was I thinking" face at 5:57am as I opened the door to let Mugsy out |
Um, yeah, but you still need to be there IN TIME FOR THE START.
We arrived literally three minutes before the start. We frantically jumped out, grabbed our schtuff, peed, and made it by about 10 seconds to the start line. I found Brandy and the four of us: Ana, Brandy, Jen, and I, set out for a nice little "Happy Birthday Winter Hike With Friends" which is what I was calling it since it was Jen's birthday (yay!), I was grossly undertrained and hadn't ran more than 8 or maybe 9 miles, it was NINE degrees according to Jen's car, and we were all there with friends.
So we took off on our little winter adventure!
It was beautiful. Really, seriously beautiful. Here is a link to the official FB page of all the pictures, so HUGE props to the volunteers like my buddy Lloyd who I saw snapping away on the course! His photos can be found here--thanks, Lloyd! The volunteers were seriously amazing--stocking the aid stations with "hot and cold" tables full of everything under the sun, making sure the course was clearly marked, and just being awesome. It really made this run super fun.
And hard. And not as bad as I thought, and then hard again. And with some killer hills and technical trails. Garmin says 1,130 feet of elevation gain.
(OUCHY. That's the sound of my quads ripping apart and my right hammy barking at me.)
I saw tons of snow covered trees, lots of snow covered running buddies, amazing volunteers, and a few signs that said "STEEP GRADE" which meant, oh yeah baby it's ON in about 12 seconds. And then ouch! But in a good way.
The last time I attempted this course, the snow was so deep and it was my first long trail race so I made the decision to bail at the first loop's end at mile 8. So if I could finish this one, I'd be pretty happy. And finish we did! Brandy, Jen, and Ana killed it and I dragged along about a minute behind as my legs and lungs revolted a little bit on the last climb out (yeah--forgot my inhaler AGAIN. me=stupid). Ana has officially been introduced to the world of trail running and did AMAZING. So proud of her! Jen and Brandy killed it as usual, too. It was so fun to run with these girls!
 |
| Ana, Me, Brandy, and Jen at the finish! My face was pretty much frozen into a smile |
I finished in about 2:40 by my watch (not counting our approximate 6 minute stops total for 2 aid stations) for an average pace of just about 12 minutes/mile, which I am SO happy about considering I had to walk most of the uphills. And there were quite a few of them, too!
Afterwards I had a bowl of delicious vegan chili provided by the volunteers and some conversation with good friends!
And now, it's almost time for this:
So get out there and play in the snow! Remember, there's no such thing as bad weather....only bad gear. :)
Huge congrats also go out to my girl Daisy who tied for first overall in the 50K! 50K in those conditions = HONEY BADGER. Amazing. Well-done, Daisy! And I KNOW she's drinking a cold one tonight, cuz that's how she rolls.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
TST Playlist, 4/100
Okay, so this isn't really a song I know.
But a year or so ago I stumbled upon the Holstee Manifesto, and kinda fell in love with it. I immediately printed it out, mounted it on some cardstock, and put it in a highly visible place in my classroom.
Turns out they made a video of it, with people riding bikes--how awesome is that? And my super cool tri-bro TriEric just posted it on FB, so I'm shamelessly putting it here. So it's not necessarily a video picked for the song, but picked for the words. Check it out!
The Holstee Manifesto Lifecycle Video from Holstee on Vimeo.
But a year or so ago I stumbled upon the Holstee Manifesto, and kinda fell in love with it. I immediately printed it out, mounted it on some cardstock, and put it in a highly visible place in my classroom.
Turns out they made a video of it, with people riding bikes--how awesome is that? And my super cool tri-bro TriEric just posted it on FB, so I'm shamelessly putting it here. So it's not necessarily a video picked for the song, but picked for the words. Check it out!
The Holstee Manifesto Lifecycle Video from Holstee on Vimeo.
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