So, after two years, it was time to get a new pair of running shoes. I think the fact that my current pair had absolutely no tread, whatsoever, kind of gave it away. I love my road running shoes - Puma H-Street Women's Plus. So, imagine my horror when I went to order a new pair from Zappo's and found there were none to be had. I checked Amazon - zilch. It began to dawn on me: My shoes had been discontinued.
Frantic, I quickly did a Bing search and was able to locate several stores that still had pairs. Unfortunately, I found that store after store no longer had the prize Pumas in my size. Finally, I was able to locate a store with several pairs in stock in my size.
Just one problem: the only color they had was...pink.
I detest pink.
Decision time. Get my beloved shoes in hated pink or switch to a different shoe.
Practicality won out in the end. And I am now the owner of not just one, but two pairs of pink Puma H-Street Women's Plus shoes.
I don't know what I'll do when I wear out the last pair.
Showing posts with label Messy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Messy. Show all posts
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Carolinas Spartan Sprint 2013
This is the recap I've kind of been dreading writing. I love OCRs. I love Spartans. But I can't, for the life of me, write that I enjoyed the 2013 Carolinas Sprint. It was hard, it was a struggle, and I'm proud that I finished, but, to be frank, I feel like a dumbass for having done it.
Let me explain.
This year has been unseasonably cold. Historically, the high should be around 63 degrees on March 23 in Charlotte. On the day I ran the Sprint, the high was 53 degrees and the low was 40. When I took off running at 10 am on the 23rd, under cloudy skies, it was not even 47 degrees out. And even though I was dressed for the weather (CW-X insulator pants, Reebok Cold Weather long-sleeve top over my CW-X top, Under Armour Beanie, heat patches on my back), I felt the cold. Immensely. I am the person who is always cold. July in Charlotte and I was 9 months pregnant - I still never felt extremely hot. As I took off running, I worried about the cold. I worried about being wet and cold. I knew that I didn't have the resistance that other people do to the cold. But, I let those fears fall away and concentrated on the course, telling myself that my worries about the cold were unfounded.
Unfortunately, they weren't.
The Sprint was again at the US National Whitewater Center. Thankfully, there was no full-out swim at the end of the race, like in 2012. As Shana and I ran up to the starting area (we had to run to make sure we would make our starting wave), I concentrated on staying warm and was telling myself that once I started running, I would be fine.
Shana and I stayed to the back of the wave as we took off running. All of the recent rain made the trails quite slippery and muddy, but I was doing fine and slowly got ahead of Shana. My worries about the cold led me to run at my own pace, which was somewhat faster than her. We wouldn't see each other again until Tough Mudder two weeks later.
The first obstacle was over-under walls. Accomplished with no help needed. Next up was the first mud pit. Deep, sticky mud. I was doing well until some guy fell into me. Honestly, I was a little ticked about being someone's landing spot, but he apologized and we moved on. The mud pit ended segued into the river walk. Being 5'2", it was more like a river dog paddle. Towards the end of the walk, there was a hold up as people had trouble getting up the bank and back onto the trail. I was feeling the cold at this point, and rude or not, I went around the line of people waiting to get out and made my own way up the bank - I needed to start moving again. Others followed my lead, though, making me feel better about my choice.
Next obstacle was the 8-foot wall. I got over by myself with no problem, using the steps/slats for the women. This led immediately into the "tractor pull" - pulling a concrete block by a chain up and down a hill. I struggled here, but completed. It was cold and my muscles were working very hard. More river walking/paddling followed. Running was becoming harder, as my muscles were so frozen, I was feeling every step vibrate up my legs and body.
Next up: mud hills and mud ponds. I was coated in slippery mud and after finishing this obstacle, I took several falls onto my right thigh and side while running. Good times.
Then came the turn for the worst. After a bit more running came the muddy barbed wire crawl. As usual, I proceeded to roll through the obstacles, quickly getting through it. Unfortunately, I got caked, front and back, in cold, cold mud. As I got up from the obstacle, I joked with the volunteer that I couldn't feel anything from the neck down. I started running again, but found I couldn't warm up like before. The next obstacle was the monkey bars, and I barely attempted them - the hands were starting to not respond to me. I did my ugly burpees and moved on - hardly anyone was completing the monkey bars on that day. I completed the Hercules Hoist successfully and had no problem with running through the tunnel (being short is an advantage at times). Cargo net was harder than usual because my muscles were so cold and stiff. More running, and then the sandbag carry.
It was at the sandbag carry that I began to realize I was in trouble. I was far more winded by the carry than I should have been, and it began to dawn on me that I was hyperventilating - a sign of hypothermia setting in. By the time I made it to the traverse wall, my hands were barely responding to my attempts to move them - I couldn't even get on the wall because I could no longer grip. I accomplished the tractor tire flip by teaming up with another female (teams had to do double the number of flips). It's hard to say in retrospect, but I think at this point, my mind went a little bit. I was on the verge of tears as I got to the spear throw and realized I physically couldn't stop shaking long enough to try it. The volunteer at the spear throw laughed at my panic- I have to hope that he didn't understand what was going on. But at that point, his laughing made me think that the only way I was going to get the help I knew I needed was by finishing the race. I ran on to the rope climb and realized that I could never complete it in my condition and that I couldn't waste precious minutes in attempting to complete it. I did, however, complete my 30 burpees (ugly as all get out and accompanied by my panicky breathing). I ran on and quickly made it up the slippery wall, jumped over the fire, and ran through the gladiators to the finish line.
As I crossed the finish line, I couldn't stop shaking. The volunteer who was about to hand me my medal told me I was blue. I told her I needed help. She immediately took me to a staff member who took me to the medic tent. The medics were amazing - they tried to get me dried off and put me in front of a heat blower, turning me every few minutes in an attempt to get me warm. They talked me through the hyperventilation. They wanted to take me to a different tent to get under heat blankets, but when they said they would have to call my emergency contact, I chattered, "No. I think I'll be ok." If they had to call the husband out there to help me out, I knew it would be game over for any future OCRs. After at least 30 minutes, they released me to the heated changing tent under the care of my friend, Karen, who happened to walk into the medic tent when I was there. My muscles ached from the shivering and spasms, and I was grateful that Karen went and got my things for me from the gear check. I don't know how long I stood in the heated changing tent before I finally stopped shivering. But, eventually, the shivering stopped and I was able to finish getting dressed and came out of the tent.
So, I completed. But as I said earlier, I feel like a dumbass for doing it. I was lucky I didn't get into more trouble out there than I did. Thankfully, it was just mild hypothermia and nothing more serious. But I learned a lesson - try all you might, but you can't beat your body's limits. I'm signed up for the Carolinas Beast, but if the weather and temps are anything like the Sprint, I will not be running the Beast.
Some things are just not worth it.
Let me explain.
This year has been unseasonably cold. Historically, the high should be around 63 degrees on March 23 in Charlotte. On the day I ran the Sprint, the high was 53 degrees and the low was 40. When I took off running at 10 am on the 23rd, under cloudy skies, it was not even 47 degrees out. And even though I was dressed for the weather (CW-X insulator pants, Reebok Cold Weather long-sleeve top over my CW-X top, Under Armour Beanie, heat patches on my back), I felt the cold. Immensely. I am the person who is always cold. July in Charlotte and I was 9 months pregnant - I still never felt extremely hot. As I took off running, I worried about the cold. I worried about being wet and cold. I knew that I didn't have the resistance that other people do to the cold. But, I let those fears fall away and concentrated on the course, telling myself that my worries about the cold were unfounded.
Unfortunately, they weren't.
The Sprint was again at the US National Whitewater Center. Thankfully, there was no full-out swim at the end of the race, like in 2012. As Shana and I ran up to the starting area (we had to run to make sure we would make our starting wave), I concentrated on staying warm and was telling myself that once I started running, I would be fine.
Shana and I stayed to the back of the wave as we took off running. All of the recent rain made the trails quite slippery and muddy, but I was doing fine and slowly got ahead of Shana. My worries about the cold led me to run at my own pace, which was somewhat faster than her. We wouldn't see each other again until Tough Mudder two weeks later.
The first obstacle was over-under walls. Accomplished with no help needed. Next up was the first mud pit. Deep, sticky mud. I was doing well until some guy fell into me. Honestly, I was a little ticked about being someone's landing spot, but he apologized and we moved on. The mud pit ended segued into the river walk. Being 5'2", it was more like a river dog paddle. Towards the end of the walk, there was a hold up as people had trouble getting up the bank and back onto the trail. I was feeling the cold at this point, and rude or not, I went around the line of people waiting to get out and made my own way up the bank - I needed to start moving again. Others followed my lead, though, making me feel better about my choice.
Next obstacle was the 8-foot wall. I got over by myself with no problem, using the steps/slats for the women. This led immediately into the "tractor pull" - pulling a concrete block by a chain up and down a hill. I struggled here, but completed. It was cold and my muscles were working very hard. More river walking/paddling followed. Running was becoming harder, as my muscles were so frozen, I was feeling every step vibrate up my legs and body.
Next up: mud hills and mud ponds. I was coated in slippery mud and after finishing this obstacle, I took several falls onto my right thigh and side while running. Good times.
Then came the turn for the worst. After a bit more running came the muddy barbed wire crawl. As usual, I proceeded to roll through the obstacles, quickly getting through it. Unfortunately, I got caked, front and back, in cold, cold mud. As I got up from the obstacle, I joked with the volunteer that I couldn't feel anything from the neck down. I started running again, but found I couldn't warm up like before. The next obstacle was the monkey bars, and I barely attempted them - the hands were starting to not respond to me. I did my ugly burpees and moved on - hardly anyone was completing the monkey bars on that day. I completed the Hercules Hoist successfully and had no problem with running through the tunnel (being short is an advantage at times). Cargo net was harder than usual because my muscles were so cold and stiff. More running, and then the sandbag carry.
It was at the sandbag carry that I began to realize I was in trouble. I was far more winded by the carry than I should have been, and it began to dawn on me that I was hyperventilating - a sign of hypothermia setting in. By the time I made it to the traverse wall, my hands were barely responding to my attempts to move them - I couldn't even get on the wall because I could no longer grip. I accomplished the tractor tire flip by teaming up with another female (teams had to do double the number of flips). It's hard to say in retrospect, but I think at this point, my mind went a little bit. I was on the verge of tears as I got to the spear throw and realized I physically couldn't stop shaking long enough to try it. The volunteer at the spear throw laughed at my panic- I have to hope that he didn't understand what was going on. But at that point, his laughing made me think that the only way I was going to get the help I knew I needed was by finishing the race. I ran on to the rope climb and realized that I could never complete it in my condition and that I couldn't waste precious minutes in attempting to complete it. I did, however, complete my 30 burpees (ugly as all get out and accompanied by my panicky breathing). I ran on and quickly made it up the slippery wall, jumped over the fire, and ran through the gladiators to the finish line.
As I crossed the finish line, I couldn't stop shaking. The volunteer who was about to hand me my medal told me I was blue. I told her I needed help. She immediately took me to a staff member who took me to the medic tent. The medics were amazing - they tried to get me dried off and put me in front of a heat blower, turning me every few minutes in an attempt to get me warm. They talked me through the hyperventilation. They wanted to take me to a different tent to get under heat blankets, but when they said they would have to call my emergency contact, I chattered, "No. I think I'll be ok." If they had to call the husband out there to help me out, I knew it would be game over for any future OCRs. After at least 30 minutes, they released me to the heated changing tent under the care of my friend, Karen, who happened to walk into the medic tent when I was there. My muscles ached from the shivering and spasms, and I was grateful that Karen went and got my things for me from the gear check. I don't know how long I stood in the heated changing tent before I finally stopped shivering. But, eventually, the shivering stopped and I was able to finish getting dressed and came out of the tent.
So, I completed. But as I said earlier, I feel like a dumbass for doing it. I was lucky I didn't get into more trouble out there than I did. Thankfully, it was just mild hypothermia and nothing more serious. But I learned a lesson - try all you might, but you can't beat your body's limits. I'm signed up for the Carolinas Beast, but if the weather and temps are anything like the Sprint, I will not be running the Beast.
Some things are just not worth it.
WOD: Writing
So, yeah. I've been really bad about writing. Blah, blah, work, blah, blah, kids, blah, blah, can't even get to the gym regularly.
There. You happy?
Seriously, my life since January has been nonstop Murphy's Law. The family got hit with the flu right after New Year's (and it was nasty!). Finally recovered from that and was getting back into the swing of things and early-February, the kid's sitter takes a new full-time job and I have to find a new sitter. Then at the end of February, personnel changes at the office mean I have to work 7 days per week, a least 10 hours per day. I think I may have gotten 4 days off in total during March. Things have finally started to slow down at the office, and the husband goes out of town on an assignment.
*Sigh* It's always something.
But, I did manage 3 out of 4 races so far. Jungle Cup Carolinas was cancelled, so my race season did not start until Carolinas Spartan Sprint. And what a start that was! Recap (obviously late) to come. Successfully completed Tough Mudder Georgia, and then I did Rugged Maniac North Carolina all by my lonesome (the change in hubby's schedule meant we couldn't make the trip to Richmond - Rugged Maniac was awesome enough to transfer my registration!). And now I have the USMC Mud Run in Columbia tomorrow.
So, enough catch up...time for some recaps!
There. You happy?
Seriously, my life since January has been nonstop Murphy's Law. The family got hit with the flu right after New Year's (and it was nasty!). Finally recovered from that and was getting back into the swing of things and early-February, the kid's sitter takes a new full-time job and I have to find a new sitter. Then at the end of February, personnel changes at the office mean I have to work 7 days per week, a least 10 hours per day. I think I may have gotten 4 days off in total during March. Things have finally started to slow down at the office, and the husband goes out of town on an assignment.
*Sigh* It's always something.
But, I did manage 3 out of 4 races so far. Jungle Cup Carolinas was cancelled, so my race season did not start until Carolinas Spartan Sprint. And what a start that was! Recap (obviously late) to come. Successfully completed Tough Mudder Georgia, and then I did Rugged Maniac North Carolina all by my lonesome (the change in hubby's schedule meant we couldn't make the trip to Richmond - Rugged Maniac was awesome enough to transfer my registration!). And now I have the USMC Mud Run in Columbia tomorrow.
So, enough catch up...time for some recaps!
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Superman and Tough Mothers
I did not want to go the the gym today.
I've been back crossfitting now for almost 2 months, and I'm signed up for 3 classes per week (really, with my schedule, fitting anything more would be a challenge. Eh, who am I kidding, with my schedule, fitting in 3 classes per week is a challenge). Since I registered for Tough Mudder Georgia (April 6!), I have officially put myself into training - which means making it into the box (Crossfit term for the gym) 3 times per week, as well as getting at least one run in per week. In order to meet my goal, I dutifully packed up my gym bag and threw it in my car, so I could go to the box right after work.
Well, my box posts its daily WODs (workout of the day) on its website. During an idle moment at work this afternoon, I decided to look up the WOD, to get an idea of what I would be in for.
Bad move.
The WOD was rowing. Intervals of 250m rowing sprints followed by 3 minutes of rest, 8 times on the Concept 2 (C2) rower.
I hate rowing. It makes me legs feel all rubbery and my forearms all stiff. It doesn't help that I am always the slowest rower, either.
I sat there, at work, staring at the computer screen, and excuses started popping into my head. I needed to spend more time with the kids. I really needed to finish up a report. I could always go on Friday and then Saturday and still get my 3 classes in this week - no harm, no foul, right?
And then, it hit me: if I ran away from this challenge, this WOD, I might as well quit training for the Tough Mudder right then and there. Because nothing about Tough Mudder is going to be easy: not the obstacles, not the cold, nothing. Just like the Spartan Beast, it will be about facing my limits and pushing through them. I am not going to be the toughest or strongest or fastest at the Tough Mudder (or, let's face it, at any race), but it shouldn't even be about that. Just showing up to take on something you know will be a challenge takes tremendous amounts of strength and courage. There was a great movie called "Angus" from the mid-90s. In it, Angus's grandfather is trying to impart words of wisdom to his teenage grandson, Angus, who has been the target of bullies for years. He tells Angus, "Superman isn't brave."
Sometimes training isn't just about the physical - it's about the mental too. And, today, I totally smoked the WOD when it came to the mental.
I've been back crossfitting now for almost 2 months, and I'm signed up for 3 classes per week (really, with my schedule, fitting anything more would be a challenge. Eh, who am I kidding, with my schedule, fitting in 3 classes per week is a challenge). Since I registered for Tough Mudder Georgia (April 6!), I have officially put myself into training - which means making it into the box (Crossfit term for the gym) 3 times per week, as well as getting at least one run in per week. In order to meet my goal, I dutifully packed up my gym bag and threw it in my car, so I could go to the box right after work.
Well, my box posts its daily WODs (workout of the day) on its website. During an idle moment at work this afternoon, I decided to look up the WOD, to get an idea of what I would be in for.
Bad move.
The WOD was rowing. Intervals of 250m rowing sprints followed by 3 minutes of rest, 8 times on the Concept 2 (C2) rower.
I hate rowing. It makes me legs feel all rubbery and my forearms all stiff. It doesn't help that I am always the slowest rower, either.
I sat there, at work, staring at the computer screen, and excuses started popping into my head. I needed to spend more time with the kids. I really needed to finish up a report. I could always go on Friday and then Saturday and still get my 3 classes in this week - no harm, no foul, right?
And then, it hit me: if I ran away from this challenge, this WOD, I might as well quit training for the Tough Mudder right then and there. Because nothing about Tough Mudder is going to be easy: not the obstacles, not the cold, nothing. Just like the Spartan Beast, it will be about facing my limits and pushing through them. I am not going to be the toughest or strongest or fastest at the Tough Mudder (or, let's face it, at any race), but it shouldn't even be about that. Just showing up to take on something you know will be a challenge takes tremendous amounts of strength and courage. There was a great movie called "Angus" from the mid-90s. In it, Angus's grandfather is trying to impart words of wisdom to his teenage grandson, Angus, who has been the target of bullies for years. He tells Angus, "Superman isn't brave."
You don't understand. He's smart, handsome, even decent. But he's not brave. No, listen to me. Superman is indestructible, and you can't be brave if you're indestructible. It's people like you and your mother. People who are different, and can be crushed and know it. Yet they keep on going out there every time.I went to the box this evening. I did my WOD. Out of the the 8 other people who came for the 6pm class, I was, by far, the slowest. Out of all of the people who did the WOD today, I was the second slowest. But I did it. I showed up, gave it my all, and I walked out proud of myself for not running away.
Sometimes training isn't just about the physical - it's about the mental too. And, today, I totally smoked the WOD when it came to the mental.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Color Run 2012 - Charlotte
Color Run is referred to as the "Happiest 5k on the Planet," a slogan that, whether it was planned or not, reminds one of the slogan for Disneyland. You know, Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth.
Unless you're a 5-year-old.
If you're a 5-year-old, Disneyland is the Most Epic Tantrum Place on Earth.
I should have kept that in mind before signing Older Boy and myself up for the Run.
I should first explain that Older Boy is very proud of his mother for running OCRs. Last year, when he was 4, he eagerly asked to enter several tot trots, or "running races." His first running race, his shoe came off not once, but twice, which led to him sitting down and bawling on the road. Running race 2 and 3 were only nominally better. I offered to run with him around the neighborhood, but much to my disappointment, after running past 3 houses, he would say he was tired and give up. When I heard about the Color Run, I had high hopes that he would finally get bitten by the running bug and we would be able to bond over races. I showed him videos of the event, and he excitedly asked to do it. We signed up as a team with one his friends, K, and his K's mother, and Older Boy would chatter to anyone who would listen about the Color Run.
The Color Run was held in Charlotte at Lowe's Motor Speedway on November 17th. Older Boy was absolutely stoked to be running near the race track. As we walked from the car to the race area, I kept having to tell him to stop running, as mommy, with her full bladder, was in no shape to run yet. He was positively pulsing with excitement. After a stop at the porta-potties, we met up with our running partners and he and K excitedly danced around while waiting for our start.
Initially, Older Boy did great. He ran and jogged along, chatting with his friend. However, before the 1st kilometer had even been run, he declared running was too hard and started pouting. Frustrated and embarrassed by his escalating temper tantrum, I picked him up and started carrying him. Some people noticed and commented on my hauling my 42 lb son up-and-down a hill; clearly, my Spartan training was coming in handy. Eventually, he agreed to use his own two legs and I put him down and he walked and jogged some more. We came to the first color station, however, and he refused to walk through with his eyes open. I agreed to hold his hand and guide him through while he kept his eyes closed. K and his mom ran through happily, while Older Boy grimly marched through the color. Afterwards, he got upset that he did not get enough color on him. So at the second station, I made sure to guide him through even slower. My reward? Red color directly sprayed in my left eye.
At least, at that point, neither one of us was happy.
Older Boy perked up a little at the water stop, agreeing to jog a little even, but for the most part, he walked, which was fine with me. I just wanted him to keep moving on his own. Things appeared to be going better until right at the end, when the finish line came into sight. K and K's mom (a runner) eagerly took off running towards the finish line. I asked Older Boy if he wanted to run across the finish line; he said no. And then he stopped walking. Ready for it to be done already, I scooped him up and started running, less than 75 yards from the finish. Somehow, this made him even more upset and he started screaming in my arms and flailing. I put him down and he ran away from me. On the bright side, he actually did run towards the finish line, but then he stopped short. I went up to him, grabbed his hand, and we walked across the finish line. Finally, it was over.
We met back up with K and K's mom. The boys had a grand time opening up their packets of color and smearing each other with them. After 15 minutes, we were ready to leave and said goodbye to our partners. Walking back towards the car, wouldn't you know it, I had to yell at Older Boy for running.
*sigh*
My hopes of Older Boy being bitten by the running bug were soundly dashed. As we drove home in silence, I realized that he was not going to be the little runner buddy that I had been hoping he would become. I decided it was time to let go of that hope and just enjoy him for the child that he is. As much as I would like to share my love of racing with him, he simply is not - and may never be - cut out for it. It was a hard pill to swallow, but after a good night's sleep, the disappointment has worn off to a large degree. It is what it is, and he is who he is.
Who knew mothering could be so messy?
Unless you're a 5-year-old.
If you're a 5-year-old, Disneyland is the Most Epic Tantrum Place on Earth.
I should have kept that in mind before signing Older Boy and myself up for the Run.
I should first explain that Older Boy is very proud of his mother for running OCRs. Last year, when he was 4, he eagerly asked to enter several tot trots, or "running races." His first running race, his shoe came off not once, but twice, which led to him sitting down and bawling on the road. Running race 2 and 3 were only nominally better. I offered to run with him around the neighborhood, but much to my disappointment, after running past 3 houses, he would say he was tired and give up. When I heard about the Color Run, I had high hopes that he would finally get bitten by the running bug and we would be able to bond over races. I showed him videos of the event, and he excitedly asked to do it. We signed up as a team with one his friends, K, and his K's mother, and Older Boy would chatter to anyone who would listen about the Color Run.
The Color Run was held in Charlotte at Lowe's Motor Speedway on November 17th. Older Boy was absolutely stoked to be running near the race track. As we walked from the car to the race area, I kept having to tell him to stop running, as mommy, with her full bladder, was in no shape to run yet. He was positively pulsing with excitement. After a stop at the porta-potties, we met up with our running partners and he and K excitedly danced around while waiting for our start.
Initially, Older Boy did great. He ran and jogged along, chatting with his friend. However, before the 1st kilometer had even been run, he declared running was too hard and started pouting. Frustrated and embarrassed by his escalating temper tantrum, I picked him up and started carrying him. Some people noticed and commented on my hauling my 42 lb son up-and-down a hill; clearly, my Spartan training was coming in handy. Eventually, he agreed to use his own two legs and I put him down and he walked and jogged some more. We came to the first color station, however, and he refused to walk through with his eyes open. I agreed to hold his hand and guide him through while he kept his eyes closed. K and his mom ran through happily, while Older Boy grimly marched through the color. Afterwards, he got upset that he did not get enough color on him. So at the second station, I made sure to guide him through even slower. My reward? Red color directly sprayed in my left eye.
At least, at that point, neither one of us was happy.
Older Boy perked up a little at the water stop, agreeing to jog a little even, but for the most part, he walked, which was fine with me. I just wanted him to keep moving on his own. Things appeared to be going better until right at the end, when the finish line came into sight. K and K's mom (a runner) eagerly took off running towards the finish line. I asked Older Boy if he wanted to run across the finish line; he said no. And then he stopped walking. Ready for it to be done already, I scooped him up and started running, less than 75 yards from the finish. Somehow, this made him even more upset and he started screaming in my arms and flailing. I put him down and he ran away from me. On the bright side, he actually did run towards the finish line, but then he stopped short. I went up to him, grabbed his hand, and we walked across the finish line. Finally, it was over.
We met back up with K and K's mom. The boys had a grand time opening up their packets of color and smearing each other with them. After 15 minutes, we were ready to leave and said goodbye to our partners. Walking back towards the car, wouldn't you know it, I had to yell at Older Boy for running.
*sigh*
My hopes of Older Boy being bitten by the running bug were soundly dashed. As we drove home in silence, I realized that he was not going to be the little runner buddy that I had been hoping he would become. I decided it was time to let go of that hope and just enjoy him for the child that he is. As much as I would like to share my love of racing with him, he simply is not - and may never be - cut out for it. It was a hard pill to swallow, but after a good night's sleep, the disappointment has worn off to a large degree. It is what it is, and he is who he is.
Who knew mothering could be so messy?
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday...
Have you ever had a wound that you just couldn't stop picking at, even though it hurt every single time you did it? If you haven't, then congratulations! - You are absolutely nothing like me.
Which may not be a bad thing necessarily. But I digress.
For the last two and a half days, I've had an emotional/psychological wound that I just can't stop picking at. I know I should - I know I should just step away - but I can't.
Let me explain. A Facebook page was started for my "class" in middle school. Call it a cohort, a bunch of kids who happened to born around the same time and ended up at the same school together - whatever. I was added to the group a couple of days ago, and I probably should have just politely left the group. But no, I am one of those people who likes to poke that wound over and over again.
And my, oh my, do I have some crazy emotional wounds from middle school.
I know I said in my first post that I was going to be honest, but there are some things I still am not going to be upfront about. A good deal of that had to do with 2 out of the 3 years I was in middle school. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of it not good and beyond the pale of the typical awkward-pubescent-experience. But there are some things I am willing to be upfront about. Like having been bullied. My goodness, did some people have a field day with my awkward, giant-eyeglass-wearing, no-fashion-sense, head-always-in-a-book self.
There's a thread on that FB page about what your most embarrassing moment was in middle school. People have posted about various silly things they did that everyone laughed about. I have not contributed - no need to be Debbie Downer and point out that my most embarrassing moments were pretty much all instigated by the same people posting in that thread (or their friends).
Like I said, I really should stop poking.
I guess what makes things so much more painful is that my Older Boy is currently dealing with a bully. He starts kindergarten on Monday, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look at his cheerful, bubbly self and think back to the little girl I used to be at that age - cheerful and bubbly. Before the bullies metaphorically knocked me to the ground.
I want to post on that board: "What the f*$k are you all smoking?!? Talking about how great junior high was? Or don't you all remember the nerds and peons you stomped into the ground with your comments and sneers?"
But that was over 20 years ago. Most of them have forgotten, I'm sure. Hell, I wish I could forget. One of the down sides to having a great memory is that you don't forget.
*sigh*
I've always wished that I could have stood up for myself more. That I would have stood up for myself more. I've wished that I could have said those things, as a 13-year-old, that I thought to say as a 20 or 30-something-year-old. I've grown up, gone on.
I'm not that girl anymore
Mostly.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'll always be a part of me. A reminder, a remnant.
But I wish I could just forget and let go. Or at least just stop poking.
Which may not be a bad thing necessarily. But I digress.
For the last two and a half days, I've had an emotional/psychological wound that I just can't stop picking at. I know I should - I know I should just step away - but I can't.
Let me explain. A Facebook page was started for my "class" in middle school. Call it a cohort, a bunch of kids who happened to born around the same time and ended up at the same school together - whatever. I was added to the group a couple of days ago, and I probably should have just politely left the group. But no, I am one of those people who likes to poke that wound over and over again.
And my, oh my, do I have some crazy emotional wounds from middle school.
I know I said in my first post that I was going to be honest, but there are some things I still am not going to be upfront about. A good deal of that had to do with 2 out of the 3 years I was in middle school. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of it not good and beyond the pale of the typical awkward-pubescent-experience. But there are some things I am willing to be upfront about. Like having been bullied. My goodness, did some people have a field day with my awkward, giant-eyeglass-wearing, no-fashion-sense, head-always-in-a-book self.
There's a thread on that FB page about what your most embarrassing moment was in middle school. People have posted about various silly things they did that everyone laughed about. I have not contributed - no need to be Debbie Downer and point out that my most embarrassing moments were pretty much all instigated by the same people posting in that thread (or their friends).
Like I said, I really should stop poking.
I guess what makes things so much more painful is that my Older Boy is currently dealing with a bully. He starts kindergarten on Monday, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look at his cheerful, bubbly self and think back to the little girl I used to be at that age - cheerful and bubbly. Before the bullies metaphorically knocked me to the ground.
I want to post on that board: "What the f*$k are you all smoking?!? Talking about how great junior high was? Or don't you all remember the nerds and peons you stomped into the ground with your comments and sneers?"
But that was over 20 years ago. Most of them have forgotten, I'm sure. Hell, I wish I could forget. One of the down sides to having a great memory is that you don't forget.
*sigh*
I've always wished that I could have stood up for myself more. That I would have stood up for myself more. I've wished that I could have said those things, as a 13-year-old, that I thought to say as a 20 or 30-something-year-old. I've grown up, gone on.
I'm not that girl anymore
Mostly.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'll always be a part of me. A reminder, a remnant.
But I wish I could just forget and let go. Or at least just stop poking.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tales of a Has-Been
This song has been bouncing around my head all morning. I can hear Eddie Money's voice, on constant replay. And of course, the cheesy saxophone. No self-respecting '80s song was complete without a saxophone.I Wanna Go BackAnd Do It All Over AgainBut I Can't Go Back, I KnowI Wanna Go BackCause I'm Feeling So Much OlderBut I Can't Go Back, I Know
But I digress.
Some people stroll down memory lane. For the past two weeks, I've worn my proverbial shoes through the sole pacing up and down memory lane. You see, my parents are in the process of moving out of the home they lived in for 21 years. Which meant that I, finally, had to go home and pack up my old room and decide what I was keeping and what needed to be either thrown away or given away.
It's not easy going through things that once meant so much to you, and now have no place in your life. It's hard looking back at the girl you used, through the lens of the woman you are now, knowing what life would bring to that girl, both the good and the bad.
Oh, the things you would tell your teenage self if you had the chance.
In junior high and high school, I was very involved with a national organization. My senior year, I was even a national officer with that organization. As it so happened, this year, their national convention was about an hour and a half from where I live now, so a friend and I decided to drive up and say hi to a couple of friends who were still involved, as well as to see how much things have changed.
There's a saying: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Seeing the mostly high school crowd, I could palpably feel a wave of nostalgia and memory sweep over me. I could feel that excitement again that I used to feel as a high schooler.
There's another saying: You can never dip your toe into the same stream twice.
As much as things were the same - many of the same sponsors, some of the same faces, though older - it was so different. I was different. I was 15 years older. Instead of worries about whether that cute guy from a different delegation would like me back and whether I would win a contest, I had worries about whether my 3-year-old would finally stop having potty training accidents and whether my parents would acclimate to the their new environment. I looked at the kids around me at the convention - many of whom weren't even born during my heyday in the group - and for a few moments, I envied them. I envied the simplicity of their lives, the joy of new discoveries to come.
The joy and freedom of youth.
And that was where my stroll down memory lane stopped. I had had my moment. It was nice to revisit, but it was time to move on.
As another saying goes: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.
This was my time to say good-bye.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Almost Found Out for Who I Am!
Let me just come out and say it: I am never winning mother of the year. And I don't even pretend to be in the running. If they started the qualifying every January 1st at midnight, I'd be disqualified by 12:05 a.m. When my older son, in fits of anger, tells me I'm the worst mommy ever, I just nod and agree with him.
It's easier that way. Why fight the truth?
You may ask: "Why do you consider yourself a bad mommy?" Well, there are numerous reasons. And I'm sure I'll share them with you over the coming weeks. But today's example of poor parenting concerns my inability to properly feed my children according to the standards, of well, most people with basic standards.
Let me preface this by stating: I myself have never been a good eater. I think I went until 4 pm yesterday before eating something. Today, I was good and actually had a snack around lunch time. It's not that I don't like eating, I just have others things I rather be focusing on. If you put food in front of me, I'll eat it. But left to my own devices, well...As my husband says, I'd never survive in the wild.
My children have learned to adapt to my lackadaisical attitude towards food by fending for themselves. Older Boy, who is 5, began raiding the refrigerator regularly, until I, in all my wisdom, decided to stock the bottom shelf with healthy snacks for him and Younger Boy. My mother is pretty much in a constant state of criticizing my mothering when it comes to food.
It's easier that way. Why fight the truth?
You may ask: "Why do you consider yourself a bad mommy?" Well, there are numerous reasons. And I'm sure I'll share them with you over the coming weeks. But today's example of poor parenting concerns my inability to properly feed my children according to the standards, of well, most people with basic standards.
Let me preface this by stating: I myself have never been a good eater. I think I went until 4 pm yesterday before eating something. Today, I was good and actually had a snack around lunch time. It's not that I don't like eating, I just have others things I rather be focusing on. If you put food in front of me, I'll eat it. But left to my own devices, well...As my husband says, I'd never survive in the wild.
My children have learned to adapt to my lackadaisical attitude towards food by fending for themselves. Older Boy, who is 5, began raiding the refrigerator regularly, until I, in all my wisdom, decided to stock the bottom shelf with healthy snacks for him and Younger Boy. My mother is pretty much in a constant state of criticizing my mothering when it comes to food.
Part of the problem is I'm just not very interested in food. Recipes, cooking? I'd rather balance my checkbook. I'm firmly in the camp that sees food as fuel - if it tastes good, well, that's just a plus. If someone came out with the type of nutritious gruel that the people in "The Matrix" eat on-board the Nebuchadnezzar, I'd be mad stocking up on it.
But, back to the topic at hand: My messy mothering.
One of the neighbors, a girl about a year older than Older Boy, came over to play this morning at our house. Older Boy starting complaining he was hungry. I looked at the clock. It was 11:30. Oh, crap: Lunchtime. Even worse than that, lunchtime with an outside participant.
I tried not to panic.
Lunch at our house generally consists of either leftovers from dinner, ramen noodles, sandwiches, or macaroni and cheese. We didn't have leftovers from dinner. Crap. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich didn't seem adequate enough to feed someone else's child. My kids? Sure, nothing but the minimal standard for my kids, but this involved someone else's child. I opened the pantry to look inside. I offered macaroni and cheese. Nope, neighbor kid had it for lunch the day before. I began to panic. My poor mommying was about to be found out. Luckily, Older Boy poked his head into the pantry and screamed, "RAMEN!" Neighbor girl got excited about ramen. Phew! Saved! I made the kids ramen and supplemented it with apples. Apples are healthy, right?
The kids happily munched their ramen and apples. Disaster averted. Neighbor girl went home with a full tummy and my secret was safe.
For now.
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