I'm between tests. I just finished a differential equation exam that really tested me. I can't tell how it went. In a day I'll be taking my math exam to be endorsed as a math teacher in Illinois. Honestly, I was more anxious about the dif eq exam than for the next one, but I still have anxiety.
Anxiety. It's stressful. I don't like what it does to me. I've had a bad relationship with anxiety for a long time. Clinically and thankfully, it isn't disabling. However, it augments my IBS and aggravates my TMJ. It makes me grumpy and impatient.
I know it's a waste of my time and energy. As I meditate on nobler things and verses, I think I can get it out of my mind, but I can't seem to get it out of my body. It gets hold of my temper and my intestinal system. Sometimes, it breaks up my sleep.
Jerk.
Anxiety, let's break up. It's not me; it's you.
I know. You'll be back.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Pusher, the Pacer and the Monumentally Bad Small Talk Maker in Indy
I'm sick of the car. However, this past weekend was not about me. It was about my niece, Christy. She ran her first half marathon (insert cheering and whistling here) at the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon (IMM). In short, she rocked it. For the long version, read below.
Right now in my life, I've been in need of help more than I can offer it. People have served me more than I've served them. It's been very humbling. This weekend, I wanted to be helpful. I wanted to serve. Running is so selfish for me. My runs are my me time. I'm not fast, though I am competitive, particularly with myself. I put that all aside. It was Christy's first half marathon. The IMM is a big race, twice as large as the race I had run two weeks earlier. Seasoned runners and newbies get nervous at a big race. I gave suggestions to Christy about when to go to the expo (Thursday rather than Friday), what to wear (wicking layers) and what time to leave (before 6). Trying not to sound so know-it-all-ish, the info was received well and appreciated.
We left just before 6 to get down to the race, which started at 8. It took about 40 minutes to get down to the start. It's hard to explain the hurry up and wait of race beginnings. Our timing was perfect. We parked at the farthest lot from the start, which was the closest lot to the finish. It was shivery cold outside. I forgot to pack an extra sweatshirt in my gear bag. Oops. On our way to gear check we found a line of open portas. Score!
In front of gear check as I was stooping down to grab something from my bag, and the race director asked us if we wanted to be interviewed. Umm. Sure. We did not realise that it was a live television interview with Fox 59. Very exciting. Most newbie half-marathoners don't get to do that! If I do get my hands on the clip, you will understand why I don't leave messages without scripting them first.
Before the start, we got in a second potty stop and lined up. It was a beautiful sunrise and a great start. The first few miles went really well. She wanted to keep under a 12 minute mile. I started my timer on my watch as we crossed the start. Christy kept the pace, and I tried not to push. The IMM is a nice flat course. I reminded Christy to look up, pointing out shops, the guy in costume, and the pretty trees. I made a habit of saying what mile we were at every time a mile marker came in view and congratulating her on her accomplishment.
At mile 5 she was doing great. She was high-fiving, thanking the volunteers and looking good. At one point she mentioned, she could keep this pace for a long time. That was a signal to me. I have found that when that thought crosses my mind I get tired in a mile or two. I watched for signs of fatigue in Christy. We crossed the 10k mark around 1:10 and kept on. Since it was cold, and we both had a lot of water that morning, we kept an eye out for an open porta with no lines. That didn't happen until mile 10. Even then we had to wait a little while.
Shortly after we had a gel at mile 7, Christy told me to talk to her until mile 10 when we would walk for a little. I'm not a great small talker. I'm terrible at it. I babble, don't get me wrong, but I like to be the one throwing the questions out there. We had been talking since 6 am, and I had a particularly boring week. I got nothing. I threw out some random boring stuff from my week, and then started pointing out things I saw. Her face was getting tight, and there were signs of fatigue.
Christy ran cross country in high school. It was obvious on the course that she had done races before. She's got a competitive spirit. She did not complain. She did not give up. I repeatedly asked her how she was doing. Is this okay? How's the pace? She was either silent or said okay. As her weariness grew more evident, I was impressed by her perseverance. She could have stopped or let up at any time. She didn't.
At mile 10 we walked a little bit. She said the race was hardest for her from 10 to 12, and it looked like it. Christy dug in and kept pace. As a race gets longer it's very easy to feel the same while pace gradually decreases. It takes work and energy to keep the same pace. Those miles were pretty quiet as her jaw tightened, I was out of conversation, and we kept passing people.
There were a few people on the course who particularly impressed me. One was an older woman wearing some loud pants and kicking our butts. Another were two couples. Three of them were taking turns pushing a man in a running stroller. They were sharing the load, running the race and helping the man experience the race when he couldn't run it. And they were having a ball. What great friends and companions to have.
There were a variety of smells on the race too: cinnamon rolls, sewage, meat, fried something, and a long long stretch of exhaust due to the cars backed up by the marathon. That was bad for both of us. Nauseating. We were so glad for fresh air.
At mile 12, I told Christy that we were looking good for a 2:35 finish. As soon as I said that she took off. Apparently she wanted to finish sooner. We passed a lot of people, and for the most part kept up the faster pace. When we saw the finish line just after mile 13, she sprinted. I am not a sprinter. I tried to keep up with her, but she beat me to the finish by a second with a 2:33:37 as her new half marathon PR. (For the record, she did her 11 miler in 2:27.) She rocked it, and she's still taking to me. I was so glad I could help.
On the way to the car, she did almost hit me for saying that I could do a few more miles.
Right now in my life, I've been in need of help more than I can offer it. People have served me more than I've served them. It's been very humbling. This weekend, I wanted to be helpful. I wanted to serve. Running is so selfish for me. My runs are my me time. I'm not fast, though I am competitive, particularly with myself. I put that all aside. It was Christy's first half marathon. The IMM is a big race, twice as large as the race I had run two weeks earlier. Seasoned runners and newbies get nervous at a big race. I gave suggestions to Christy about when to go to the expo (Thursday rather than Friday), what to wear (wicking layers) and what time to leave (before 6). Trying not to sound so know-it-all-ish, the info was received well and appreciated.
 |
| Christy and I before the race |
We left just before 6 to get down to the race, which started at 8. It took about 40 minutes to get down to the start. It's hard to explain the hurry up and wait of race beginnings. Our timing was perfect. We parked at the farthest lot from the start, which was the closest lot to the finish. It was shivery cold outside. I forgot to pack an extra sweatshirt in my gear bag. Oops. On our way to gear check we found a line of open portas. Score!
 |
| Good Morning Indianapolis! |
At mile 5 she was doing great. She was high-fiving, thanking the volunteers and looking good. At one point she mentioned, she could keep this pace for a long time. That was a signal to me. I have found that when that thought crosses my mind I get tired in a mile or two. I watched for signs of fatigue in Christy. We crossed the 10k mark around 1:10 and kept on. Since it was cold, and we both had a lot of water that morning, we kept an eye out for an open porta with no lines. That didn't happen until mile 10. Even then we had to wait a little while.
Shortly after we had a gel at mile 7, Christy told me to talk to her until mile 10 when we would walk for a little. I'm not a great small talker. I'm terrible at it. I babble, don't get me wrong, but I like to be the one throwing the questions out there. We had been talking since 6 am, and I had a particularly boring week. I got nothing. I threw out some random boring stuff from my week, and then started pointing out things I saw. Her face was getting tight, and there were signs of fatigue.
Christy ran cross country in high school. It was obvious on the course that she had done races before. She's got a competitive spirit. She did not complain. She did not give up. I repeatedly asked her how she was doing. Is this okay? How's the pace? She was either silent or said okay. As her weariness grew more evident, I was impressed by her perseverance. She could have stopped or let up at any time. She didn't.
At mile 10 we walked a little bit. She said the race was hardest for her from 10 to 12, and it looked like it. Christy dug in and kept pace. As a race gets longer it's very easy to feel the same while pace gradually decreases. It takes work and energy to keep the same pace. Those miles were pretty quiet as her jaw tightened, I was out of conversation, and we kept passing people.
There were a few people on the course who particularly impressed me. One was an older woman wearing some loud pants and kicking our butts. Another were two couples. Three of them were taking turns pushing a man in a running stroller. They were sharing the load, running the race and helping the man experience the race when he couldn't run it. And they were having a ball. What great friends and companions to have.
There were a variety of smells on the race too: cinnamon rolls, sewage, meat, fried something, and a long long stretch of exhaust due to the cars backed up by the marathon. That was bad for both of us. Nauseating. We were so glad for fresh air.
At mile 12, I told Christy that we were looking good for a 2:35 finish. As soon as I said that she took off. Apparently she wanted to finish sooner. We passed a lot of people, and for the most part kept up the faster pace. When we saw the finish line just after mile 13, she sprinted. I am not a sprinter. I tried to keep up with her, but she beat me to the finish by a second with a 2:33:37 as her new half marathon PR. (For the record, she did her 11 miler in 2:27.) She rocked it, and she's still taking to me. I was so glad I could help.
 |
| Christy, the Capital, heavy medal, and me |
On the way to the car, she did almost hit me for saying that I could do a few more miles.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Indianapolis Marathon: Slow Me and the Bandit
So this past weekend I did my 5th marathon in my 5th state, Indiana. My nephew, his wife, and their four kids live outside Indianapolis. All the kids get along, and we have a good time. I chose to do the Indianapolis Marathon because of its reviews and the small field. My niece was supposed to do the half with me, but she signed up for the larger more well known Indianapolis Monumental Marathon in two weeks. I will most likely pace her for the half. Considering my race this past Saturday, I'll just be paying it forward.
The Indianapolis Marathon takes place in Fort Benjamin Harrison Park in Lawrence, Indiana. The trees are full into fall and look fantastic. The race caps out at 5,000 for the full, half and 5k. This is perfect for me. I like a small marathon. The first half of the course is hilly and loopy. The second half is a flat out-and-back.
It was a cold windy morning. I gear checked at the last moment and got in the long lines for the bathroom. It was another National Anthem that I missed and didn't stand up. I managed to sneak into my corral as it was creeping toward the start line. Each corral started a minute or so after the last one headed out. So wise. I started 9 minutes after the clock start time. I met some nice ladies at the beginning. One was doing her first full and wanted to finish in 5.5 hours, and another doing the half said that the trees were prettier this year than last year.
I had downloaded a bunch of new songs on my Ipod for the second half of the course. I figured that I would get tired then and need the motivation.There were times in the first half I wanted my music badly. As it happened I didn't need my Ipod at all. The first half was great and brutal all at the same time. There were some nice hills and beautiful scenery, and I even saw a deer. I felt as good running as I did for the Omaha Half Marathon, but my time at the half was 13 minutes slower. It was that hilly. I enjoyed the half greatly. The top of my thighs were warm by mile 10.
I ran every hill, and as I ran up the long hill to the half I ran along side a gentleman. We kept pace. When the full split from the half, he was next to me again. He said, "You're a good pacer." I asked, "Is this your first marathon?" He responded that he was out for a training run. A bandit. His son was running the marathon, and he was going to run to the 17 mile mark, turn around and then meet his son at the finish. In the next 14 miles, I got to know John. I didn't know his name unril we had run three or four miles together. He is 69 and has run 40 marathons. He had retired from Target and had been instrumental in having Target sponsor Grandma's Marathon. He was trying qualify for Boston in a marathon a few weeks later with a 4:25 in the 70 year old division. He also volunteers as a cross country and track coach at a small high school in rural Indiana. If a bandit angel pacer could drop out of the sky just for me, John was it.
At mile 17 he looked for his son but could not find him. He worried that his son had dropped out at the half. I had mentioned halfheartedly at one point that he should run the whole thing with me. In the running club, I have been know to "talk" people into running a few more miles with me. I really don't feel that I'm that influential, but John decided he would run the whole marathon, five extra miles, with me. I showered one liners, and he showered encouragement.
Here's some of our dialogue:
Me: Have you run this course before?
J: Yes. And you don't PR on this course.
Me with relief: Oh.
J: I think you have some more in you, and you can go ahead if you want.
Me: If you can find it, you let me know.
At mile 22 I hit the wall hard. My abs were cramping, and I was tired. He mentioned but didn't complain about his hip and stomach.
Me: I'm going to cry.
J: No. Don't do that.
Me: I want to stop.
J: It won't make you feel any better.
Me: True.
At mile 24 I took a longer time drinking water. John waited for me. I told him I was coming and ran again. Although I didn't listen to my Ipod, a song that I didn't download was running in my head for the last two miles. It's called Good to Be Alive by Jason Gray. The lyrics, "I want to live like there's no tomorrow, Love, like I'm borrowed time. It's good to be alive," kept pace in my head. I need to download that song. It's good perspective.
The last mile is uphill with turns. I was so tired. John kept telling me the finish was just around the corner. When the clocks showed our time with half a mile left, he pushed me to pick it up and finish under 5. I finished at 4:58:58. John finished and got a medal too. He knows that he didn't pay his dues, but he definitely earned it. We shook hands at the finish, and I didn't see him again.
My girlios and cousins were at the end cheering with posters. I was so happy to have them there, and I am so thankful to have had John as my pacer. I've recovered well and have no injuries. I am ready to run another day, probably tomorrow.
 |
| Finishing Strong!! 4:58:58 |
The Indianapolis Marathon takes place in Fort Benjamin Harrison Park in Lawrence, Indiana. The trees are full into fall and look fantastic. The race caps out at 5,000 for the full, half and 5k. This is perfect for me. I like a small marathon. The first half of the course is hilly and loopy. The second half is a flat out-and-back.
It was a cold windy morning. I gear checked at the last moment and got in the long lines for the bathroom. It was another National Anthem that I missed and didn't stand up. I managed to sneak into my corral as it was creeping toward the start line. Each corral started a minute or so after the last one headed out. So wise. I started 9 minutes after the clock start time. I met some nice ladies at the beginning. One was doing her first full and wanted to finish in 5.5 hours, and another doing the half said that the trees were prettier this year than last year.
I had downloaded a bunch of new songs on my Ipod for the second half of the course. I figured that I would get tired then and need the motivation.There were times in the first half I wanted my music badly. As it happened I didn't need my Ipod at all. The first half was great and brutal all at the same time. There were some nice hills and beautiful scenery, and I even saw a deer. I felt as good running as I did for the Omaha Half Marathon, but my time at the half was 13 minutes slower. It was that hilly. I enjoyed the half greatly. The top of my thighs were warm by mile 10.
I ran every hill, and as I ran up the long hill to the half I ran along side a gentleman. We kept pace. When the full split from the half, he was next to me again. He said, "You're a good pacer." I asked, "Is this your first marathon?" He responded that he was out for a training run. A bandit. His son was running the marathon, and he was going to run to the 17 mile mark, turn around and then meet his son at the finish. In the next 14 miles, I got to know John. I didn't know his name unril we had run three or four miles together. He is 69 and has run 40 marathons. He had retired from Target and had been instrumental in having Target sponsor Grandma's Marathon. He was trying qualify for Boston in a marathon a few weeks later with a 4:25 in the 70 year old division. He also volunteers as a cross country and track coach at a small high school in rural Indiana. If a bandit angel pacer could drop out of the sky just for me, John was it.
At mile 17 he looked for his son but could not find him. He worried that his son had dropped out at the half. I had mentioned halfheartedly at one point that he should run the whole thing with me. In the running club, I have been know to "talk" people into running a few more miles with me. I really don't feel that I'm that influential, but John decided he would run the whole marathon, five extra miles, with me. I showered one liners, and he showered encouragement.
Here's some of our dialogue:
Me: Have you run this course before?
J: Yes. And you don't PR on this course.
Me with relief: Oh.
J: I think you have some more in you, and you can go ahead if you want.
Me: If you can find it, you let me know.
At mile 22 I hit the wall hard. My abs were cramping, and I was tired. He mentioned but didn't complain about his hip and stomach.
Me: I'm going to cry.
J: No. Don't do that.
Me: I want to stop.
J: It won't make you feel any better.
Me: True.
At mile 24 I took a longer time drinking water. John waited for me. I told him I was coming and ran again. Although I didn't listen to my Ipod, a song that I didn't download was running in my head for the last two miles. It's called Good to Be Alive by Jason Gray. The lyrics, "I want to live like there's no tomorrow, Love, like I'm borrowed time. It's good to be alive," kept pace in my head. I need to download that song. It's good perspective.
The last mile is uphill with turns. I was so tired. John kept telling me the finish was just around the corner. When the clocks showed our time with half a mile left, he pushed me to pick it up and finish under 5. I finished at 4:58:58. John finished and got a medal too. He knows that he didn't pay his dues, but he definitely earned it. We shook hands at the finish, and I didn't see him again.
My girlios and cousins were at the end cheering with posters. I was so happy to have them there, and I am so thankful to have had John as my pacer. I've recovered well and have no injuries. I am ready to run another day, probably tomorrow.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Omaha Marathon: A happy place & my happy pace
Let it be said that I hate long distance driving. Anything over an hour or so, I really don't want to do. I'll be your co-pilot. I'll stay awake the whole time you're at the wheel, but I really don't want to drive. There is too much responsibility with gnawing anxiety. So this weekend I took my longest solo drive, just me and the girlios. It took me two years to put on my big girl pants and drive out to see my dear friend, Chris, who moved to Omaha. Chris has taught me so much about being a mother, friend and a Christian. She taught me that my brain is unusual but not alone. And she speaks fluent snark too. Her two girls are the same age as my two oldest, and when they lived here, we spent a lot of time together hanging out, doing life. I treasure that time.
It's an eight hour drive to Omaha without stops. Four girlios have to make stops, frequently. Did I mention that I don't like to drive? To add to it, my littlest girlio spiked a fever the day before we were going to leave. Stressful. With a new set of tires and some Tylenol, the girlios headed across I-O-W-A to Omaha. I wish I could write Iowa longer, like it felt. It's really not a bad drive; I barely had to turn.
I was a little worried about how everybody would get along after not seeing each other for two years. When we arrived, my worries quickly dissolved. It was almost as if no time had passed. The girls played well all weekend. Yes, little things came up, but overall it was lovely. Chris and I talked the first night until very late, catching up. The only think we did on Saturday out of the house was to pick up my bib. The expo was small and welcoming. There was also a balloon animal maker, which was perfect for five girls. The girls came home with headbands as well. I did go to bed early the night before the race. Sleep was not optimal the whole weekend. A sick flailing kid can be disruptive when sharing a bed. The last night I decided to sleep on the floor. It was marginally better.
The race started at 7 am. Despite my desire to just get up, run the race and come back, Chris drove me to the race and stayed to cheer me and others she knew during the race. The race went through the ConAgra complex at mile 7 and 11, and Chris was there cheering. It's nice to see people on the course. The complex was one of the prettiest parts of the course. There was another section that looked onto the Omaha skyline. The race has a 10k, half marathon, and marathon. Everybody started together. The course looped back to the start/finish line. The first loop took the 10k to their finish. The second took the half to the end, and the third took the full to the finish. The field was small, between 3-5 thousand total participants. That's perfect for me. I totally scored on a short portapotty line.
It was about 40 degrees at the start of the race. I ran in my Ruu-Muu running dress. I love running in it, especially half marathons. I can put my Gus in the back, and I'm on my way. I am contemplating wearing it for my full marathon in three weeks, but it scares me to not have water with me. I had to borrow gloves from Chris. I stuffed them in the Ruu pockets when it got warmer and my Gu count went down. I also wore my arm warmers, compression capris and my race shirt over my Ruu. I had my race shirt made at Running Banana a few years ago. It says, "Take Everything in Stride" on the front. On the back it says, "Please pass me. I don't mind. I didn't come to start; I came to finish." People in Omaha are nice, super nice. A woman asked if she could take a picture of my shirt at the start. There was further discussion about my shirt at the start, but I was a little OCD about the wedge I had. I couldn't run with my undies in a bunch.
I didn't run with a watch. I expected there to be a few clocks on the course, perhaps at the 10K cut off. There weren't. I had no idea how fast I was going. I ran purely by feel, finding my happy pace. When I did see my time at the end (2:18:52), I didn't know how long it took me to get to the start line (4min). The first mile was crowded, and my legs were cold. The mile markers were little sandwich signs like those that tell you not to use the bathroom because they are cleaning. I almost missed it. During mile two there was a great discussion about 'running tourettes.' The runners started dropping f-bombs to demonstrate and I decided to kick it up a notch to get ahead of the bombardment. Around mile 3 I started thinking about how much I hate running and complaining about being out here. Looking back, I was having running tourettes. It passed. Many people talked about my shirt. "Love your shirt." "Best shirt on the course." "I took a picture of your shirt." Super nice people. It was almost too much attention for me.
By the 10K I was feeling good. I looked at my times yesterday. I ran a 10:29 pace for the 10K, and a 10:08 pace for the rest of the race. I guess I was feeling spunky. There was a great uphill at 7.5 and a great downhill at 9.5. I find downhills more taxing than uphills. I know I missed a few mile markers. I had a few nice conversations along the way. A woman in front of me had run 18 miles the previous day. She still beat me. Rock star. When I turned the corner into the finish, I was pretty happy with my time. When I got an email later for my official time, I was even happier (2:14:49).
There were fully dressed Marines handing out medals at the finish. I normally keep my medal in my purse for a few days to remind me of what I did when I go back to 'real life.' The medals from the Omaha marathon are made out of glass. The half marathoners get clear recycled glass, and the full marathoners get colored glass. I had to take the medal out of my purse when I got home. I have small children, and my purse takes a beating.
After the race it took me a while find Chris and head out. We went to the Omaha Zoo later in the afternoon. It's very cool, and we spent the rest of the time hanging around. We could definitely use another day there.
It was sad to go home the next day. It was a fantastic time and a good run. Chris tells me that there is a marathon in Lincoln in the spring. Hmm. I made the drive and we made it home. I even saw someone else sporting the race shirt at a gas station in Iowa and I found that encouraging. In a couple weeks I head out to Indy with the girlios for a full. It's half the drive. I think I can make it.
It's an eight hour drive to Omaha without stops. Four girlios have to make stops, frequently. Did I mention that I don't like to drive? To add to it, my littlest girlio spiked a fever the day before we were going to leave. Stressful. With a new set of tires and some Tylenol, the girlios headed across I-O-W-A to Omaha. I wish I could write Iowa longer, like it felt. It's really not a bad drive; I barely had to turn.
I was a little worried about how everybody would get along after not seeing each other for two years. When we arrived, my worries quickly dissolved. It was almost as if no time had passed. The girls played well all weekend. Yes, little things came up, but overall it was lovely. Chris and I talked the first night until very late, catching up. The only think we did on Saturday out of the house was to pick up my bib. The expo was small and welcoming. There was also a balloon animal maker, which was perfect for five girls. The girls came home with headbands as well. I did go to bed early the night before the race. Sleep was not optimal the whole weekend. A sick flailing kid can be disruptive when sharing a bed. The last night I decided to sleep on the floor. It was marginally better.
The race started at 7 am. Despite my desire to just get up, run the race and come back, Chris drove me to the race and stayed to cheer me and others she knew during the race. The race went through the ConAgra complex at mile 7 and 11, and Chris was there cheering. It's nice to see people on the course. The complex was one of the prettiest parts of the course. There was another section that looked onto the Omaha skyline. The race has a 10k, half marathon, and marathon. Everybody started together. The course looped back to the start/finish line. The first loop took the 10k to their finish. The second took the half to the end, and the third took the full to the finish. The field was small, between 3-5 thousand total participants. That's perfect for me. I totally scored on a short portapotty line.
 |
| We look cold. Don't we all look cold? |
 |
| My race shirt. I always look better at the beginning. |
I didn't run with a watch. I expected there to be a few clocks on the course, perhaps at the 10K cut off. There weren't. I had no idea how fast I was going. I ran purely by feel, finding my happy pace. When I did see my time at the end (2:18:52), I didn't know how long it took me to get to the start line (4min). The first mile was crowded, and my legs were cold. The mile markers were little sandwich signs like those that tell you not to use the bathroom because they are cleaning. I almost missed it. During mile two there was a great discussion about 'running tourettes.' The runners started dropping f-bombs to demonstrate and I decided to kick it up a notch to get ahead of the bombardment. Around mile 3 I started thinking about how much I hate running and complaining about being out here. Looking back, I was having running tourettes. It passed. Many people talked about my shirt. "Love your shirt." "Best shirt on the course." "I took a picture of your shirt." Super nice people. It was almost too much attention for me.
By the 10K I was feeling good. I looked at my times yesterday. I ran a 10:29 pace for the 10K, and a 10:08 pace for the rest of the race. I guess I was feeling spunky. There was a great uphill at 7.5 and a great downhill at 9.5. I find downhills more taxing than uphills. I know I missed a few mile markers. I had a few nice conversations along the way. A woman in front of me had run 18 miles the previous day. She still beat me. Rock star. When I turned the corner into the finish, I was pretty happy with my time. When I got an email later for my official time, I was even happier (2:14:49).
 |
| Look at the medal. Don't look at my hair. |
There were fully dressed Marines handing out medals at the finish. I normally keep my medal in my purse for a few days to remind me of what I did when I go back to 'real life.' The medals from the Omaha marathon are made out of glass. The half marathoners get clear recycled glass, and the full marathoners get colored glass. I had to take the medal out of my purse when I got home. I have small children, and my purse takes a beating.
After the race it took me a while find Chris and head out. We went to the Omaha Zoo later in the afternoon. It's very cool, and we spent the rest of the time hanging around. We could definitely use another day there.
 |
| Hanging out at Omaha Zoo (and random woman) |
It was sad to go home the next day. It was a fantastic time and a good run. Chris tells me that there is a marathon in Lincoln in the spring. Hmm. I made the drive and we made it home. I even saw someone else sporting the race shirt at a gas station in Iowa and I found that encouraging. In a couple weeks I head out to Indy with the girlios for a full. It's half the drive. I think I can make it.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Courage: Moving from Discouraged to Encouraged
So I haven't been blogging lately. I don't feel like I have time. I've fallen into fall and am still waiting to hit bottom. Every week since school started something new has been added on to the schedule. Piano, soccer, homeschool group, college class, work. One huge balancing act. It's the tyranny of the urgent until we get the rhythm down of the fall schedule.
And I have to say I am feeling discouraged. Even now as I am surrounded by a messy house and the girlios are just one phrase away from another fight (or weeping), I feel guilty about sitting down to type. The to-do's call, plead and scream. I've spent most of the day mulling over homework problems for class tonight, and two of them still elude me.
I have a lot to be encouraged about. This weekend during my 20 miler (I only had to do 18) I passed the 600 mile mark for the year. My pace was awesome for me. I am pretty sure the Garmin lies (in my favor). My girlios are healthy and doing well in homeschool. My husband and I still love to cuddle and talk late into the night. We just got a new bed and after a few nights of adjustment, I sleep solid. The weather is cooler. The praise list could go on and on.
I find it amazing, the power of one thing, to undermine my confidence. I am taking another math class this semester. It's a doozy. It's uncomfortable. The material (differential equations) and the classroom environment are uncomfortable. Why can't it be as easy as calculus? Why isn't there another gal in class? Why do I have to be the oldest? Why does it seem to be so cryptic? Why do the problems take so long? It's exhausting. And it's discouraging. You may be saying, as I also say to myself, that the other people in class shouldn't matter. Unfortunately, environment matters. Blocking it out is tiring. For many years, I would have told you that there were no differences between girls and boys. Then I had girls.
Anyway, I've been processing my discouragement. Yesterday, I taught my first day of 5k running and fitness class at our homeschool group. We are doing the couch to 5k plan, and yesterday was day one. I have 17 kids in class. Some are already runners, and some have never run before. My pace puts me near the back of the pack. I am okay with that, but it has to be discouraging for some of the newbies. I am so proud of all of them. So excited! They did awesome, but they may not be feeling awesome. I can think of a few people that may be very discouraged with how it went. I want them to stick with it, see improvement and be encouraged with themselves. I want them to make the move from discouragement to encouragement. Have courage. Do their best and forget the rest. Advice I should take to heart.
Being a teacher and a student at the same time has many privileges. I learn about both sides of the relationship. In November, I will be taking the state certification test for math and if I pass it and this class, I'll be submitting my 24+ hours of math to add a math endorsement on my teaching certificate. Although I am struggling in this class, I am trying to be the student I would want my students to be - asking questions of the teacher, making connections in class and seeking out other sources for a better understanding. I remind myself that it is good for me to empathize with future students that I will have and even current ones. This feeling I have, discouragement, is not foreign to many people regarding math. I really do want to be part of the solution.
So if there is anything in your life right now, like me, that is causing you discouragement, may I encourage you, as I am trying to encourage myself.
Have courage. Be strong and courageous.
On that note I have to go; I have two more problems to wrestle with.
And I have to say I am feeling discouraged. Even now as I am surrounded by a messy house and the girlios are just one phrase away from another fight (or weeping), I feel guilty about sitting down to type. The to-do's call, plead and scream. I've spent most of the day mulling over homework problems for class tonight, and two of them still elude me.
I have a lot to be encouraged about. This weekend during my 20 miler (I only had to do 18) I passed the 600 mile mark for the year. My pace was awesome for me. I am pretty sure the Garmin lies (in my favor). My girlios are healthy and doing well in homeschool. My husband and I still love to cuddle and talk late into the night. We just got a new bed and after a few nights of adjustment, I sleep solid. The weather is cooler. The praise list could go on and on.
I find it amazing, the power of one thing, to undermine my confidence. I am taking another math class this semester. It's a doozy. It's uncomfortable. The material (differential equations) and the classroom environment are uncomfortable. Why can't it be as easy as calculus? Why isn't there another gal in class? Why do I have to be the oldest? Why does it seem to be so cryptic? Why do the problems take so long? It's exhausting. And it's discouraging. You may be saying, as I also say to myself, that the other people in class shouldn't matter. Unfortunately, environment matters. Blocking it out is tiring. For many years, I would have told you that there were no differences between girls and boys. Then I had girls.
Anyway, I've been processing my discouragement. Yesterday, I taught my first day of 5k running and fitness class at our homeschool group. We are doing the couch to 5k plan, and yesterday was day one. I have 17 kids in class. Some are already runners, and some have never run before. My pace puts me near the back of the pack. I am okay with that, but it has to be discouraging for some of the newbies. I am so proud of all of them. So excited! They did awesome, but they may not be feeling awesome. I can think of a few people that may be very discouraged with how it went. I want them to stick with it, see improvement and be encouraged with themselves. I want them to make the move from discouragement to encouragement. Have courage. Do their best and forget the rest. Advice I should take to heart.
Being a teacher and a student at the same time has many privileges. I learn about both sides of the relationship. In November, I will be taking the state certification test for math and if I pass it and this class, I'll be submitting my 24+ hours of math to add a math endorsement on my teaching certificate. Although I am struggling in this class, I am trying to be the student I would want my students to be - asking questions of the teacher, making connections in class and seeking out other sources for a better understanding. I remind myself that it is good for me to empathize with future students that I will have and even current ones. This feeling I have, discouragement, is not foreign to many people regarding math. I really do want to be part of the solution.
So if there is anything in your life right now, like me, that is causing you discouragement, may I encourage you, as I am trying to encourage myself.
Have courage. Be strong and courageous.
On that note I have to go; I have two more problems to wrestle with.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Kids & Mud
So a few weeks ago, a gal from the running club asked if anyone could take her spot for the Dirty Girl Mud Run. I took the spot and 'ran' with a stellar group of gals through the dirt. Our kids came to spectate, and my girlios were hooked. Playing in the mud is a kid's dream. They asked me to find a mud run for them. The Columbia Muddy Buddy race was today, and there was a special race just for the kids, the Mini Muddy Buddy.
I've been trying to get my girls involved in running for a while. My oldest thinks it's just too much work. My girlios did a kids run a few years ago after one of my first half marathons, and my oldest said, "I'm never doing that again." My girlios love biking. My youngest, at four, can put in a couple of miles. My oldest has paced me around the neighborhood for 7+ miles with just one gear on her bike. Why would they want to run?
Mud changed everything.
They've been talking about the Mini Muddy for weeks. "Is it today?" "Can we get our stuff ready?" Since we've signed up my oldest has even asked to do a 5K with me. The girls have run as well as biked. They ask if the runs I am looking into have a kids race. The power of mud.
I do a lot of races during the year. I decided to volunteer us before the Mini Muddy Buddy. It was nice for me to be on the giving rather than the taking side for an event. It takes about an hour to drive down to Gilberts, Il, and after arriving at about 8:30 we made our way to the volunteer tent. We were put right to work in the registration tent handing out shirts and bags. My two oldest rocked. They kept up with the long lines handing out bags for almost two hours. And they took pride in their work. My youngest was tired and got clingy early. She did help me hand out the Mini Muddy shirts. One-by-one the girlios' blood sugar dropped, youngest first and then each older girl got glassy-eyed. They had bagels on the way, and we had protein bars still in the car. After two hours the registration line died down, and I was given permission re-energize the girlios. Before their race the girls had time to piddy, hydrate and snack. They were ready.
It was hot by noon. Really really hot. The kids were lined up by waves. The 4-to-6-year-olds had to have a parent with them so the littlest girls and I were front and side. The course is small for older kids, but just right for the little ones. There were saw horses, tires, a ground crawl, a climbing wall and the mud pit. My oldest started late enough that we were able to see her off as well as see her finish.
My youngest who does sand angels at the park stepped in the mud pit and flipped out. What?! I was crawling through the mud watching my two youngest walking through the mud. They had no desire to crawl once they put their hands in it. It was not going as planned. My middle child tried kicking mud on me. Um? No. If you're not crawling, you don't get to fling. My youngest started crying in the mud pit and didn't stop until we got in the lake to wash off. The mud in her shoes wigged her out. And she wailed. The mud dried on her legs. And she wailed. People were looking at her. She looks strained in her picture. However the moment she got in the lake she wants to go swimming, virtually erasing the mud memories. By the time we got home, she wanted to do another mud run.
My other two girls loved the race. Everybody had a great time walking and washing in the lake. I almost lost my shoe. And a sock. We were some happy wet dirty girlios.
The ride home was long, and we were on the hunt for a shake, which sounded fabulous. We had been outside for six hours. A shake sounded fabulous. Doesn't it? There was great rejoicing when we finally found a McDonald's nearly an hour later, and my youngest finished a whole medium strawberry shake in no time. She may have been hungry. I finished mine pretty quick too. Everybody perked up.
The girlios wore their shirts all evening. They want to wear them again tomorrow. My oldest wore her medal for the rest of today too. She said that this was her first real medal.
They're hooked. Mud is powerful.
 |
| The starting line |
I've been trying to get my girls involved in running for a while. My oldest thinks it's just too much work. My girlios did a kids run a few years ago after one of my first half marathons, and my oldest said, "I'm never doing that again." My girlios love biking. My youngest, at four, can put in a couple of miles. My oldest has paced me around the neighborhood for 7+ miles with just one gear on her bike. Why would they want to run?
Mud changed everything.
They've been talking about the Mini Muddy for weeks. "Is it today?" "Can we get our stuff ready?" Since we've signed up my oldest has even asked to do a 5K with me. The girls have run as well as biked. They ask if the runs I am looking into have a kids race. The power of mud.
I do a lot of races during the year. I decided to volunteer us before the Mini Muddy Buddy. It was nice for me to be on the giving rather than the taking side for an event. It takes about an hour to drive down to Gilberts, Il, and after arriving at about 8:30 we made our way to the volunteer tent. We were put right to work in the registration tent handing out shirts and bags. My two oldest rocked. They kept up with the long lines handing out bags for almost two hours. And they took pride in their work. My youngest was tired and got clingy early. She did help me hand out the Mini Muddy shirts. One-by-one the girlios' blood sugar dropped, youngest first and then each older girl got glassy-eyed. They had bagels on the way, and we had protein bars still in the car. After two hours the registration line died down, and I was given permission re-energize the girlios. Before their race the girls had time to piddy, hydrate and snack. They were ready.
It was hot by noon. Really really hot. The kids were lined up by waves. The 4-to-6-year-olds had to have a parent with them so the littlest girls and I were front and side. The course is small for older kids, but just right for the little ones. There were saw horses, tires, a ground crawl, a climbing wall and the mud pit. My oldest started late enough that we were able to see her off as well as see her finish.
My youngest who does sand angels at the park stepped in the mud pit and flipped out. What?! I was crawling through the mud watching my two youngest walking through the mud. They had no desire to crawl once they put their hands in it. It was not going as planned. My middle child tried kicking mud on me. Um? No. If you're not crawling, you don't get to fling. My youngest started crying in the mud pit and didn't stop until we got in the lake to wash off. The mud in her shoes wigged her out. And she wailed. The mud dried on her legs. And she wailed. People were looking at her. She looks strained in her picture. However the moment she got in the lake she wants to go swimming, virtually erasing the mud memories. By the time we got home, she wanted to do another mud run.
 |
| This is not the face of joy |
My other two girls loved the race. Everybody had a great time walking and washing in the lake. I almost lost my shoe. And a sock. We were some happy wet dirty girlios.
 |
| Still some weeping but the lake is just steps away... |
The ride home was long, and we were on the hunt for a shake, which sounded fabulous. We had been outside for six hours. A shake sounded fabulous. Doesn't it? There was great rejoicing when we finally found a McDonald's nearly an hour later, and my youngest finished a whole medium strawberry shake in no time. She may have been hungry. I finished mine pretty quick too. Everybody perked up.
The girlios wore their shirts all evening. They want to wear them again tomorrow. My oldest wore her medal for the rest of today too. She said that this was her first real medal.
They're hooked. Mud is powerful.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Minding the Gap
It's been quiet on the blog lately. We've had a big spring here at home. I've just had the chance to start to process. So join me if you will on working it through.
Just about three weeks ago we dropped off our first Safe Family placement. We had the little girl, S, here for four months. It was a wild ride. The last couple weeks has been bittersweet. There's a gap in our house, and we can feel it. One of the girlios misses nap time, the quiet time in the afternoon. Another girlio has reminded me that S is her best friend. The house has also been quieter and calmer and less stressful.
She turned three here. We had a birthday party for her. She grew and flourished in our home. In her young life she has been seen homelessness, food uncertainty, mental illness, poverty, abandonment and addiction. It's a lot for a little life to carry. She has a great survival instinct and overall a very cheery personality. She's a fighter, for good and for bad.
I wish I could say that it was fantastic. It wasn't. It was hard and great at the same time. To their credit, my girlios were amazing. They loved, flexed, showed grace and took her in as a sister. S missed her mom and was angry about it. She felt comfortable enough around us to show her feelings. It was good for her growth because she could vent and learn to control some of her emotions. It was hard on us because of the physical nature of her emotional outbursts. I don't think she was used to boundaries. It's hard on everybody to catch up on those.
She came in February. It was cold and snowy. My girls love snow. S didn't exactly know what to do. We taught her how to play, that it was okay to play, and that it was okay to get dirty. The first time we took her to the park I took for granted that kids play at the park. She didn't want to step in the mulch. She didn't play in the sand. She didn't climb or slide down the slides. When she left in June she did all the things kids should do at the park. She slid, climbed and played with sand. I believe strongly that kids need to play for development. She loved being outside.
She tried new foods. She tried new things. She had new experiences. We took her on vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains. We took her to Pittsburgh to visit my sister. She loved going to soccer practice, and we got her her own ball. She showed some delays, but she also showed that she was capable of catching up. She could carry a tune better than all of us in the family combined.
She is highly verbal and often it made my eyes twitch. She couldn't track with all the words in a sentence that was said. It was hard. It took us a while to figure out that if she repeated the sentence after us she could understand what we were saying. She wanted to be prayed over every night. I still pray over her, and I think of her everyday.
My sister-in-law recently adopted her 24th placement. After walking in her shoes just this one time, I admire her even more. She's my hero. Talking through some things with her was so helpful.
So what did we learn?
We learned that sharing, really sharing, especially the things we love the most is hard. We love our family, so much, and sharing them was difficult. We learned to dig deep. And at points we learned we were pretty sucky at sharing. More than once we prayed for strength, grace and help, sometimes in tears.
We learned about love as an action word. We want to love and be loving. That takes action and faith to step out. So many people have encouraged us and told us what an amazing thing we were doing. I don't feel amazing. I do feel we made choices to live as we believe. Taking those steps of faith, day-in day-out loving is hard. We were blessed but growing involves stretching, tearing and healing. We learned about love.
So would we do it again? Yes and no. More to come. Our story isn't over, but you'll just have to wait.
If you can't feed a hundred people, then just feed one. ~ Mother Teresa
She turned three here. We had a birthday party for her. She grew and flourished in our home. In her young life she has been seen homelessness, food uncertainty, mental illness, poverty, abandonment and addiction. It's a lot for a little life to carry. She has a great survival instinct and overall a very cheery personality. She's a fighter, for good and for bad.
I wish I could say that it was fantastic. It wasn't. It was hard and great at the same time. To their credit, my girlios were amazing. They loved, flexed, showed grace and took her in as a sister. S missed her mom and was angry about it. She felt comfortable enough around us to show her feelings. It was good for her growth because she could vent and learn to control some of her emotions. It was hard on us because of the physical nature of her emotional outbursts. I don't think she was used to boundaries. It's hard on everybody to catch up on those.
She came in February. It was cold and snowy. My girls love snow. S didn't exactly know what to do. We taught her how to play, that it was okay to play, and that it was okay to get dirty. The first time we took her to the park I took for granted that kids play at the park. She didn't want to step in the mulch. She didn't play in the sand. She didn't climb or slide down the slides. When she left in June she did all the things kids should do at the park. She slid, climbed and played with sand. I believe strongly that kids need to play for development. She loved being outside.
She tried new foods. She tried new things. She had new experiences. We took her on vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains. We took her to Pittsburgh to visit my sister. She loved going to soccer practice, and we got her her own ball. She showed some delays, but she also showed that she was capable of catching up. She could carry a tune better than all of us in the family combined.
She is highly verbal and often it made my eyes twitch. She couldn't track with all the words in a sentence that was said. It was hard. It took us a while to figure out that if she repeated the sentence after us she could understand what we were saying. She wanted to be prayed over every night. I still pray over her, and I think of her everyday.
My sister-in-law recently adopted her 24th placement. After walking in her shoes just this one time, I admire her even more. She's my hero. Talking through some things with her was so helpful.
So what did we learn?
We learned that sharing, really sharing, especially the things we love the most is hard. We love our family, so much, and sharing them was difficult. We learned to dig deep. And at points we learned we were pretty sucky at sharing. More than once we prayed for strength, grace and help, sometimes in tears.
We learned about love as an action word. We want to love and be loving. That takes action and faith to step out. So many people have encouraged us and told us what an amazing thing we were doing. I don't feel amazing. I do feel we made choices to live as we believe. Taking those steps of faith, day-in day-out loving is hard. We were blessed but growing involves stretching, tearing and healing. We learned about love.
So would we do it again? Yes and no. More to come. Our story isn't over, but you'll just have to wait.
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