Keeping up.

I know I've mentioned my life-long goal of running a full, 26.2-mile marathon either before or while I'm 30. Maybe I've even noted that I registered for one right down the road scheduled for September 26. But other than that, I've tried to be quiet about my training, and more specifically, my failures and successes along the way.

But after this last weekend, I feel like sharing:

I've been staying pretty true to my training schedule and I do feel stronger. In fact, Saturday I participated in my first Adventure Race. It was a combination scavenger hunt, trail run, trail/road biking and paddle boarding. I wasn't really nervous but very excited to see how my marathoner-in-training body would handle it. Needless to say, I felt great. And it felt awesome to sweat that much. I mean, I was drenched. In some strange way, it was pretty empowering. This was the first time in years that I really felt like an athlete, not just a wannabe.

After an uncomfortable ride (bike seats really should be more comfortable) to visit my parents who had been watching my kids, I began thinking about the 12 miles that loomed in front of me Sunday morning. I dwelled on getting up once again, at 5 am...what happened to sleeping in?!...and just tried to convince myself that I wouldn't be sore and could handle it. (Someone once told me that running is all a matter of making your head believe that your body is as strong as it is. Physically you can be in perfect shape, but if you're not equally as strong mentally, failure is evident.)

I did wake up the next morning at 5. But it was dark and I was on a farm. So I waited 30 minutes before heading out, pepper spray in hand. I ran the 2.25 miles into the nearest town on a railroad dirt path along the tracks, which happens to be some of the best land to run on. Crossing into town, I felt pretty strong. There was a nice breeze and the sky was various shades of blue, trying to decide if it needed to shower a little that morning or just get hot and sticky.

I made my way, looping three times around the small community. Not one person was out. Just a few dogs noticed my presence. Legs felt pretty good. Head was clear. By the time I returned to the railroad path, I was beginning to think about the orange juice waiting for me back home. And while I was ready to be done, it still felt great to get so many miles in before my kids woke up.

What made it even better was knowing that I had worked out for nearly three hours the day before; ran two hours on Sunday morning and still had the strength to help my parents lay irrigation pipe for four hours. My body may be getting older but it's so refreshing to know that it's no weaker than it was several years and two kids earlier. Maybe this weekend is what I needed to remind myself that 26.2 miles may be a long way, but anybody, even a mom with bad knees, weak hips and little sleep can scratch if off her bucket list at the age of 30...

Losing spirit.

I was raised Lutheran, although we weren't always frequent church-goers. I joined the Catholic faith after my husband and were married...after much studying and debate. And while we used to frequent weekly mass, the last two years have really been sporadic.

I think about it often. And every Sunday, I have a sense of guilt that lasts most of the day. The other morning while I was running past the church, I had been reflecting on the pages from Eat, Pray, Love that I had read the night before (much of the intro is about faith and meditation), and I had revelation.

While I do believe in God, I realized that those forty-five minutes we were spending each week at mass did much more than remind us to keep God in our lives...it was time that I used to clear my head. Meditate. Apologize. Clear the slate. And while there is no guarantee that it will get me closer to Heaven, that time does give my heart and soul a therapy session. I can honestly say that I feel meaner, more judgmental...colder...when I skip that special time.

Call it the devil, or just human nature's jealous self soaking into my soul but I believe that quite possibly, not taking time to reflect on our behaviors or consciously remind ourselves of the type of person we're striving to be, that we do slowly become bad people.

Doesn't matter if you need a church, a yoga class or a quite corner in your house, we all need some spiritual cleaning...perhaps even on a weekly basis.

Wisdom comes out of necessity.

I finally discovered the answer to one of my deepest issues: how to get red wine out of white clothing. What is it...the Clorox Bleach Pen. Seriously.

This discovery led me to look back at all of the tiny bits of wisdom I've gained through the last few years as an adult. No, I haven't been paid for any of this. But I am truly loyal to all of the following lifesavers:

1. Bleach pen. My crisp, white and extremely expensive bridesmaid dress from my sister's Vegas wedding in April. Had a great time. A bottle or more of wine. And realized the next day that it must be possible to smear the stuff all over. Nearly two months later, I dabbed this stuff on, wiped it off and bye-bye wine. Guess it's ready for her at-home reception (bring on the Pinot Noir)!

2. Shout. My mother-in-law turned me onto this handy cleaner. I don't even use it on my clothes anymore. Just to 'shampoo' the carpet in my car. Works like a dream. My vehicle is five years old and the carpet looks like new...and with two children 4 and 20 months, there are plenty of spills and splatters.

3. Clorox Wipes. I stash a container of these in about every room in the house. When I'm getting ready for work, I can wipe down my bathroom counter. Wipe up any spills on the floor. These belong in any diaper bag.

4. Swiffer...anything they make. I'm currently just using the WetJet because I sweep every day and am trying to save the Earth from my excessive use of sheets. The WetJet is great because there's no prep time. My kids run outside, I run for the WetJet and start mopping like crazy. By the time they come in for a drink or a band-aid, the floor's clean and dry.

5. Scrubbing Bubbles Shower Cleaner. This thing may go through batteries pretty quickly but it's fast and it works. When my husband and I got married and realized he would essentially have his own bathroom, I knew I needed some 'hands-off' cleaning solution. The only problem is that I have to ask if he's out of solution or batteries and generally he's been out of one or both for awhile...

I'm sure there are more but this is a little peek at my cleaning secrets. No, it doesn't mean I have the cleanest house in town but it sure makes me feel better about my kids eating off the floor.

Taking the plunge

I finally did it. Last week I registered (aka: paid for) a full marathon. And I have about 17 weeks to prepare myself. I've been talking about doing it for so long that it's hard to believe I'm actually going to attempt it. But as I've been reflecting on running and this race and crossing another goal off of my '30' list, I've also been reminded of my first attempts at running.

I read an article today recounting a runner's first experience on the pavement. It was beautiful, but unfortunately, I can't remember my very first experience. Being active in athletics in the small high school I attended, I would imagine it was quite a long time ago...way before I could appreciate it.

But I do remember my first steps after having my son. I was overweight by upwards of 50 pounds. I was ashamed to put on my lycra running pants. Even more when I stepped outside and took the first few steps. I could feel the extra tire or two around my waist. Bouncing with me as I trudged down our main street. It was the first time I realized that you could actually feel your fat responding to physical activity. The entire midsection of my body seemed to working a half step behind me. It was up when my foot came down and vise versa. I just hoped that what I was feeling couldn't be seen by passersby.

I'm not sure I completed a mile at a time back then. But I do remember getting home, stripping down and realizing that my arms had been rubbed raw by my extra-large, post-baby chest. It was all the motivation I needed to get up the next day and face my body fat that seemed to be taunting me. Reminding me that it was fighting like hell to stay there, weighing me down both emotionally and physically.

Just a few weeks later, I had invited my parents up to my first road race. I wore all black. And I struggled through the 5k. I'm ashamed to see those pictures even today, but they were proud and my husband was excited for me. And what followed was a series of road races. Each a testament to my dedication and desire to look and feel better the older I become.

Four years and another child later, I'm still running. Sure, I'm still chasing that goal weight but today it's more about staying healthy and instilling an appreciation for physical activity in my children.

Let's just hope I'm still feeling this way on Mile 24 in September...

Honesty comes with a price.

Earlier this week a good friend of mine brought up the idea of game changers. The idea that at certain times in our lives, we should make a decision that changes the course of our lives in some way, it can be major or seemingly small but a change none the less. At the time, I took it with a grain of salt but the conversation's been haunting me for the last several days.

The conversation led me to discovering a journal, my first journal (1993). I skimmed the pages and like my other journals, much of the content was about who I was dating or trying to date...adolescence is so crazy. Ultimately, that find led me to re-discovering a Dr. Phil workbook I had purchased during college. It was something about helping to realize how the decisions you've made and the people in your life have helped you get to this point in your life. And of course, how to unravel the mess and clear your plate.

I quickly realized that I had only gotten through two or three of the exercises before jumping ship. But one gem, the first exercise, caught my eye. It was my life history in a story format. In it, I discussed how I always felt like my father was never proud of me. He always wanted more, expected more and was always disappointed. And I had felt like the decisions I made in my life, the person I was trying to become, was solely to make him proud-and earn his unconditional love.

The strange part is that in a list-making journal I wrote in a year or so after that Dr. Phil thing, I had made a list about things I love about my dad. The first was that he's forgiving and loves me regardless of my downfalls.

So which entry was honest? I've been trying to figure that out all day and I've got to admit, I'm pretty perplexed. But I do wonder if I've always used my relationships with boys and men as a cover. A way to avoid having to confront the feelings I had/have for my father. Or as a way to try and find whatever sort of approval and acceptance I was so desperately trying to gain.

Because in all honesty, I feel myself craving and striving for approval and acceptance from my spouse. So the big question here is: as we grow and mature, do we ever fully grow out of who we were as a child?

I'm becoming more and more doubtful.

The results are in...

Just to follow up with my previous post: the race was awesome. The weather was perfect. I was in the zone. My hips and knees seemed to understand that I was on a mission and they were in full compliance. While I didn't break any world records, I did break my own personal record and felt great afterward (which makes me wonder if I pushed myself hard enough)...












Wouldn't quite classify myself as a real runner yet but I'm re-energized and feeling ready to take the plunge and give 26.2 a shot.

For the time being, my stress level is low and I'm just waiting for things to overload again.

Self-imposed stress...created here daily.

I'd like to claim that I'm a laid back, hip mom. Truth is, my stomach's in knots more often than not. I can tell myself all day every day to relax and take things as they come but honestly, that's just a lot of mumbo jumbo happening in my head all day. It's amazing I ever accomplish anything.

Of course there's the constant balance of being a mom, wife, employee, banker, housekeeper, etc. And then there are the 'me' items on my list, and one in particular is staring me down this week.

The half-marathon. (insert deep, painful sigh)

My third, you'd think I'd be over it. I trained okay. I'm in less pain then last year. And I know how much I love the atmosphere. But at the end of the day, it's still 13.1 miles. It's still this battle between my body then and my body now. The decent athlete turned mom with weak knees and hips.

I want so badly to be a runner. To know what it's like to be so passionate and dedicated to the sport that if I miss a run, I feel terrible about it all day and run extra long to make up for it the next. To be apart of this strange and fun group of people who do things a little differently. Who spend more money on their running gear than professional wardrobe.

I'm not there yet but hopefully one of these days I'll find a good balance. Whether that's a solid three miles or six, I should just be thankful that my body's still going. There are so many reasons I should be thankful for the opportunity to run a half marathon and yet my heads got me all worked up and worried about beating a time or looking strong or not walking.

Just another example of us being our own worst enemies.