New Things Afoot. . .

I had not planned on posting about my next RunnerBox.  If you will recall I had a post (3/29/13) at the end of March about a wonderful company called RunnerBox, where you can send a "care package" to a runner friend or family member, or even get a box for yourself.

I had subscribed to the monthly deliveries - why not?  It's like my birthday every month!  I got my package this week, and it could not have come at a better time.  I am stressed out at work (End of Grade Testing), I am stressed out at home (8 year doesn't want to take his much-needed meds, 7 year old son wants to pierce both his ears) - heaven knows this Momma could use a little TLC.
Well, it arrived in a 6" by 4" little box this past Wednesday, appropriate quote in box included:

The quote inside:  "Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go." 

 -- T. S. Eliot

There was oodles of new stuff in this month's package. . .and by oodles, I mean. . .OODLES.
Look at all this stuff!

Again, all of it was new to me.  There were some Clif Shot Bloks, which I have never tried, and RunnerBox so brilliantly sent me "Margarita" flavor.  Love.
There is also a cool hair elastic/wristband called Simbi:  "Cool with a cause.  Each Simbi sold purifies 1 gallon of water a day and creates jobs for the people of Haiti."  There was a bunch of other stuff, as you can see - but the big deal, to me, was the socks.  Yes, socks.

I am very picky about my running socks.  I really like Balega and SmartWool, for a variety of reasons, but they are also just great socks.  In this package there is a pair of Injinji toe socks.  I had heard of this toe sock concept, but often I am not brave about trying new things, particularly when I have something that already works.  Like the old saying, If it's not broke, don't fix it. 

So, I was excited to have an opportunity to try and wear these socks, without the shelling out of big bucks. 

Let me tell you - I will be buying more pairs - they are worth it.

When I first put them on, it was a little odd. . .almost like a thong on my toes.  But as soon as I slipped my feet into my shoes, it felt like heaven.  I did an 8+ mile run in them,

 

and I don't want to take them off. 

The Tribe

The Boston Marathon was over a week ago.  While I didn't personally know anyone running the race, I was excited for all those who earned the opportunity to run it. 
I was, and still am, devastated by the events that occurred, and the lives lost and changed forever. 
It is interesting to me, because before the tragedy, I had been trying to figure out a way to articulate how I feel about Runners, as a Group.  The terms "sisterhood" or "brotherhood" had crossed my mind, but didn't quite encompass completely my feelings about fellow runners, and being a runner myself.

After the bombings in Boston, a running friend wrote a blog entry ( In The Wake of Boston. . .We Will Run) that really spoke well, I think, about the Tribe that is Runners.  And, really articulated very clearly, a good way to define the group with which I feel so much camaraderie - a tribe.

I can be driving - anywhere.  In North Carolina, Washington, DC, or Maine - and if see someone running, I feel an immediate bond.  I know that release they are feeling, I am instantly jealous of their time on the pavement - even if I have already run that day, or know I will be soon.  I envy their moment of running.

I might be out and about, and see a 13.1 or 26.2 or "runner girl" magnet on the back of a vehicle, and want to madly honk my horn and wave, as if I have found a long lost friend. 

As I've stated in other blog posts, I am generally quite introverted and anti-social.  However, at a race - I am relaxed, and openly chat with fellow corral runners, or running up a hill, I meet up with someone at my pace, and we encourage each other through the push.  I've had moments where I feel like I can't go any further, and someone will come up behind me, and say, "Come on, you can do this!" and encourage me back into motion. 

I feel like this is a group, that no matter where I am, I can belong.  We have this wonderful commonality, and a special understanding - the training, the time, the investment, the adrenaline and rush, the clarity and sanity. 

So, with a heavy heart, I think of my Boston tribe.  I think of my running family near and far. 
You are all my heroes.  We run together, even when we are apart.

Celebrate Every Day

Earth Day.

Ever since I started running, I have become more aware of my surroundings.  Of course, when one goes for ridiculously long runs of 2+ hours, one of the few ways to pass the time is looking at the world around you. . .I, in my ocd-ways, like to count plastic and aluminum bottles - litter - on the side of the road.  Yes, you can add this to my long list of crazy.  I find that 1) it helps to pass the time, and 2) it is a little game I play, adding it up.  When I lived in Maine, we used to be able to take bottles and cans to the recycle center and get .05 cents for each.  So as I run, I add up all the bottles and cans - it's depressing.  My largest amount to date, was from running in the mountains, and I had a total of $17.80.  That is from one run.  That's depressing.

It makes me appreciate my world even more than I already do.  Litter is truly one of those things that can be so easily prevented!  Trash cans are readily accessible.  If not, I like to keep a grocery plastic bag in my car for trash that we create while in the car.  Even when I am running, I tuck my GU wrappers back into my pocket when I am done. . .No need to litter. 

Making even small changes in your life can make a big impact.

That said, I make an effort to incorporate eco-changes into my life, as possible.  Recently, I have been researching more eco-friendly workout wear.  I have a "Fitness Favorites" link to the right on this blog, and a couple of the companies are featured specifically for their eco-awareness and/or local proximity. 

Alot Sports is a local (NC) company that I like a lot (ha ha).  Their shirts are very, very soft and comfortable.  They have just changed sizing, so I think it's more accurate than it was in the past.

Atayne is the newest company to come to my attention.  This is an amazing company based out of Maine (where I lived for several years, and met the love of my life).  Atayne uses recycled polyesters/trash in their clothing line.
Here is a wonderful shirt I bought from Atayne.  It fits true to size, and is very comfortable.  I highly recommend checking out their site and reading about their philosophy.  A sticker that came with the shirt informed me that, "This shirt prevented 10 plastic bottles from being trashed & kept jobs in the US."

Here is a link, for your searching ease:  Atayne
http://www.atayne.com/119.html
If you place an order through the link, you get Free Standard Shipping on your order!  Check them out, and be sure to look at the "Fitness Favorites" link on my blog as well.

Happy Earth Day - every day!

9. 25. 13. Years.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, intelligent, funny young 13 year old girl.  She was in the 8^th grade, and there were only 3 other people with her in study hall – one other girl, and two boys.  The other girl, and one boy were dating, so this brilliant, gorgeous 13 year decided to date the other boy – who was a nice 9^th grade guy.

They “dated” for a little bit, as much as two young kids who only have study-hall in common will date.  Soon, they went their separate ways.

Two years later, when the stunning young girl was 16 years old, and in the 10^th grade, she was hitting on an 11^th grade guy, but ended up with the previous fellow from study hall.  He wooed her one day, when she needed a ride to work, and he offered to take her.  She bravely got into his rusty orange VW bus that he had to start with a screwdriver, because the key was lost.  And off they went. . .

Oh young love.

 

This young couple dated throughout the rest of high school. 

The young girl, now a young woman, with dreams of college, and this young man, with his dreams of rockstardom.  The young man, who is one of ten children, and this young woman, who was an only child for her first 11 years.  This young man, who lived life day to day, and this young woman, who had a plan.  This young man who said “forever and a day” and this young woman who believed true love was only in fairy tales.

 

College arrived, and the young woman headed south.  The young man followed a few months later. The next few years were a blur of college, parties, work, friends, on and off dating.  The young woman kept thinking that the “grass was greener” in the dating world, yet never found “the one”. 

 

 

One sunny   afternoon, the young man and the young woman were sitting in a field, and the young man said, “I just stopped fighting it.  You’re the one, and I will make it work.”

The young woman realized the words of wisdom from the young man, and agreed.

 

 

They were married 2 years later.

Now they are in the whirlwind of parenthood, work, and life in general. 

They had dated for 9 years.  They have known each other for 25 years.  They have been married for 13 years – and counting. 

I am so glad we are on this journey together.   I would not want to go through life with any other person by my side, than you.  I think about you when we are not together.  I smile when I see a text from you.  I look forward to your morning kisses before you go to work, and your evening kisses when you come home.  Your hugs bring me peace.  I love you more today, than yesterday.

Forever and a day, you are my rockstar.  Happy 13^th Anniversary.  I love you.

What's Under There?

I really hate clothes shopping. 

I don't like the word "hate", so I don't use it lightly.  But I really, really, really don't like clothes shopping.  I am truly a jeans and t-shirt gal.  If it's comfortable and functional, I'm happy.

It gets discouraging finding something cute, or stylish, and trying to find it in my size, which, depending on the store is anywhere from a size 2 to a size 10.  Kind of like the "Scale of Lies", this always does wonders for my self-esteem.  Size 2?  Whoo-hooo!  All that working out is paying off!  Size 10?  What?  Did I sleep all last week, and eat 2 trays of brownies?  Keep in mind, this is all on the same day of trying things on - just depends on the style, and the store.

You know where this is going.

Our 13th wedding anniversary is tomorrow.  The gift for 13 is apparently textile or lace.  I went with lace. . .specifically, lace undergarments. 

It has been a loooooong time since I've purchased undergarments that were not advertised with selling points like "moisture wicking" and "duct tape like support for the girls". 



So, walking into Victoria's Secret (in my running spandex, sweaty race shirt and sports bra) - was like, well, entering a foreign country.  I didn't know the language, the currency, the customs, if you will.  Seven seconds into the store, I had at least 3 different sales women ask if I wanted help (is there a neon sign with blinking arrow following me around that reads, "Has NO IDEA and needs serious lingerie help!?)

I walked through the store looking at styles and materials.  I felt lost.  Where were the "comfort spandex" and the "running support" items?  What was this satin padded demi-cup, with removable inserts?!  Removable inserts?  Is there now a new grown-up version of stuffing your bra? 

I finally find one bra that is not equipped with excess padding.  It is kind of pretty and lacy.  I am gaining some confidence.  I decide to mosey over to the underwear tables to try and find a pair that doesn't make me feel like I have a perma-wedgie.  As I am scanning my options, one of the sales women asks, "Would you like the matching panties for that bra?"  What?  Matching panties?  You don't deal with these kinds of issues and choices at the Running Store!  "Do I have to buy the matching panties?" I ask the sales woman.  This results in a group laugh session from all the women who hear this conversation.  Apparently, No - one does not have to buy the matching panties in order to buy the bra.  Glad I could provide comic relief for the staff and patrons at Victoria's Secret.

Bra and panties found.  Lace, check.  No extra padding, check.  Enough bottom coverage to not result in major discomfort throughout the evening, check.  Hopefully, happy husband?  This better be a check!

Okay, I can do this.  I can do this for my husband.  I can do this in the name of celebrating 13 years of marriage.  I can give my husband the gift of a "lady" for a night at dinner, and not a "runner mom".
He better appreciate this sacrifice.  If not, perhaps I could consider a career in comic relief shopping assistant?

A lesson in Forgiveness, from my 7 year old.

The other day, my 7 year old decided he wanted his nails painted.  This is not new, for those of you who know us.  He loves all colors, sparkles, rainbows, etc - and getting his nails done is just par for the course with him.  He chose a glittery purple, and on a beautiful afternoon, we sat outside and painted his fingernails, and my toenails.  It was a mother-son bonding moment.

Then, he ran off to rough-house and play with friends down the street.  The friends did not want to play with my son, for whatever reason, but one girl told him it was because he was not wearing a shirt (he was just wearing swim trunks, as he had been playing in the water), and because of his glittery nails.  She said he was not "appropriate" to join in the group play.  I watched this exchange, although I could not hear it.  I watched my son cross the street, and sit on the opposite curb, to watch the children.  Then, this young girl proceeded to come across the street, hand on hip, and talk to my son some more.  He listened.  He shook his head.  She kept talking, this time with very exaggerated hand movements.  He finally got off the curb, and ran home. 

With a tight smile on his face, he said, "Hey Mom."  I asked him what happened, knowing that something had gone down.  "Nothing," he replied, as his eyes welled with tears. 
"Oh no," I said, "Let's talk about this, what happened?" 
"I don't want to talk about it, it's okay."
"No, it's not okay, I'd like to know what made you upset."  I pushed.
Not holding back the tears anymore, my son threw himself into my arms and shared that the girl told him that he was not welcome to play with them (she was part of a group of about 7 kids), ". . .because I am not wearing a shirt, and my glittery nails.  She said it's not appropriate, and I can't play with them!"

Hello neighborhood kids, meet Mama Bear.

The anger surged.  How dare they!  My son is just trying to play.  He is not harming anyone.  It is a beautiful, warm day, and he's not wearing any less than he would at the pool.  I start to march over to the young girl's house, and she yells, "Run!" and all the kids scatter. . .a sign of guilt, in my mind.  I finally see her, and call her over. . .she drags her feet over, head down (more guilt?  I think yes).  "What happened?" I ask, to let her explain her side.
"Well, your son is not wearing a shirt, and it's not okay for the little kids to see that," she says looking at the ground.  "I even went in and asked my Dad and he said it's not appropriate, and that your son should go home, so that's what I told him."  She says.
"What about his nails?" I ask.
"Oh, well, they're glittery - and. . .it's not a problem." She tells me.

I'm not going to argue with this child.  I don't know what this family believes.  Maybe, in their home, a shirtless 7 year old boy is offensive?  So I don't want to debate this with her, I just wanted to make sure that I understood clearly, from both sides.

I'm no less angry.

I come back home, and check on my son.  He is inside. I return to sitting on the front porch, watching these other kids, play, and stewing - I mean really getting worked up about this situation.  I am more angry with each passing minute.  I've texted a couple friends about this, and they are on board.  I have back-up support.

As I am sitting there plotting - my 7 year old comes out (sans shirt still, glittery nails sparkling in the sun), and tosses the walkie-talkie in my lap, happily telling me is off to play with a different neighborhood child.
Startled at the big smile, and the absence of tears, I ask,"Are you sure?  Are you okay?"
"Oh yeah," he says grinning at me, "It's okay." And off he goes.  No second thought or look at the other group.

I found myself being extremely impressed with his ability to "let go".  I honestly think if the first group had called him over to play, he would have, just as happily.  He had forgiven and moved on.  How??? 

I could learn a lot from my 7 year old.

My bags are packed!

My bags are packed.  They are full, actually, and I am already on my Guilt Trip.

Charlotte RaceFest Half Marathon/10K was Saturday.  I had registered for the Half Marathon.  I can run a half marathon.  But, the week leading up to the race was miserable (see previous post).  The night before the race, I felt awful, with my allergies kicked into high gear.

I texted my Fitness Guru (spin teacher Mon/Weds/Fri), looking for a little advice/motivation to handle this funk.  She - of the "throw out your scale" advice, called back, and shared some pearls of wisdom.

Step back.

Easier said than done, and she acknowledged this.  The hardest part for me, would be mentally dealing with the decision to not run the half.  She's right.  My guilt bags got packed.

At the race, I waffled back and forth.  Stuffed full of meds (and I mean seriously hopped up on allergy meds), I arrived at the race feeling pretty good.  "I can do this!" I was thinking.  But in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the conversation with my Fitness Guru. . .

It would be better to run less miles, and remain functioning, than to push myself, and have to take a week off to recover.

Both races (10K and Half) started at the same time.  I was with a friend of mine, but she was running with someone else. . .so I felt comfortable to run ahead.  As I approached the 3 mile marker, I could see that the 10K runners were to turn right, and the Half Marathon runners were to continue straight.

I turned right.

Throw another bag of guilt onto my pile of guilt luggage.  As I plowed ahead (on one of the few downhills of the course), I made the decision that if I was going to do fewer miles, I was going to make them fast. . .So, I kicked it up a notch. . .Brilliant decision timing on my part, as I was passing someone mowing his front yard.  Hello grass, meet my allergies, you two are old friends.  My eyes watered, my throat and tongue started itching.  I popped a cough drop and kept running.

At this point I am about 4.5 miles into the race.  A woman next me, says, "I am using you to pace myself."  I elegantly snorted, coughed and hacked, and told her, "I'm not sure you want to use me as a pacer."
We ended up running together.  Big hills at this point, another person out mowing their lawn (am I the only allergy sufferer in this town??).  I am huffing and puffing, but keeping up with this woman, who, as it turns out, just gave birth to her third child 2 months ago.  She can do this?  I can do this!

One mile to go - I can see we are approaching the finish.  I see a 6 year old running ahead of me.  Really?  I can definitely do this.  I take it up another notch.  I've been needing to - uh - use the restroom since mile 2, so I have extra motivation to get to the finish.

I leave my new running friend behind, and sprint (yes, sprint) to the finish. 
I couldn't get my watch to work at the very beginning of the race, and I forgot to shut it off for about five minutes after I finished - so I don't have my official time yet, but I came in at under 1 hour.

I'm still feeling terribly guilty, even as I type this blog.  I am not sure how to let go of that disappointment in myself - feeling "less than" for not completing the half, even though I do feel I made the right decision.  Instead of bumming about not doing the Half, I should be celebrating that I ran a great 10K.  How do I unload this luggage?

At least I packed my Ruffle Skirt - it definitely helped!

The story behind the picture, is that this is our runner friend's car.

This car also happens to be my husband's dream car.

So, I sent him the pic, and asked, "Which would you rather have?"

He chose "Ruffles".  Good choice, honey.

 

A Girl With A Plan: Don't Die.

Goodbye Winter, Hello Summer!


North Carolina decided to leap from winter, directly into summer.  The temps this week have been up to the high 70s, possibly even the low 80s - which, sitting and relaxing in the shade, can be enjoyable. However, when running through the streets of Davidson, not so much.  I ran 10 miles on Monday.  Actually, I think I ran 5 and walked 5.  I was miserable.  The heat was oppressive.  I got a sunburn on my shoulders.  Everything that could be blooming, is in bloom - and so my allergies are acting up.  Basically, I am miserable while running.

I have a race on Saturday.  This race starts ridiculously early on Saturday.  I expect that it will be hot, even for the morning, and I know that it will be hilly.  I know that I will be inhaling allergens for 2 hours.  I am dreading this race.

Normally, before a run, I pack this -

For this race, I am packing this -

Some people, might be eating protein, drinking water, and slurping GU before the race.  Oh no, not me.  I will be spraying Astlin up my nose, popping Zyrtec, and pouring Alaway drops into my eyes.  I will be stuffing Kleenex into every possible pocket on my outfit, and I am hoarding cough drops in the zipper pocket of my skirt.  I will be a running pharmacy.

My plan for this race?  Don't die. 

Do it, and finish.  And then, maybe, Ryan Gosling will be available to make it all better?



If not, maybe you'll listen to me vent?  I can offer you cough drops and Kleenex.

The Frat House

I am surrounded by boys.  I have two sons.  I have a husband.  Our cat. . .you guessed it, is a boy.

Our home is lacking in the estrogen department.

All things bodily are hysterical, at the moment.  Burps?  Yup.  Farts?  Yup.  External body organs?  Yup.  Any mention of these things usually results in serious guffaws, and it's not just limited to the 7 & 8 year old boys. . .Ummm, hmmmm.  My boys are destructive.  No matter how much I clean, it looks like a tornado has gone through my home. . .My boys are loud - they talk loudly, they yell loudly, they play games loudly - even the Big Boy (aka Husband) plays his music loud.  The cat even leaves the occasional pile of puke, to add to the mess and chaos.

Clearly, I am not alone in this, if there is such an accurate quote about it!

 

 



So, when people ask me, "how can you run so long?"  I think to myself,
"Cold rainy days?  You got nothing on the noise level in my home!" 
"Hills?  You got nothing on the destruction my children create!"
"Mile 10?  You got nothing on the whiny arguments that occur approximately every three minutes!"
"Sore muscles?  You got nothing on the endless bodily function jokes!"

Every now and then, I get bit by the "girlie bug".  I will buy something pink (not often), or actually make an attempt at doing my hair (hopeless).  I don't even own any make-up -  I think a chimpanzee with a nervous tic could apply it better than I, so I don't even bother.  In fact, all the nail polish in our home is owned by the 7 year old (that's another story).

This past weekend I went shopping.  I bought a running skirt.  It has ruffles. 
It helps to remind that I am a woman, and not just "one of the guys." 

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE having boys.  I really, really do!  But they are loud.  They are messy.  They are incredibly destructive.  They argue. . .a lot.   Did I mention messy?  They tear up our sofa, they've poked a hole in the top of the ottoman, and they like to shove toys down into the hole.  Cushions apparently belong on the floor, and I think we could feed a small country with the food wedged into the sofa crevices.

They do think that burping and farting are the funniest things ever.  The current joke, a la my 7 year old:

Why does the superhero flush the toilet?

 

It was his doody (duty)!

I feel like I live in a frat house.  It prepares me well for the difficulties in life.  I can handle a lot of difficult situations and people, because of the "frat house."  I enjoy my running time, away from the "frat house." 

And when I am pushing myself, at Mile 10, uphill, in the cold, rainy, weather. . .I say to myself,
"I can handle this, because I handle the Frat House."


And I'm wearing ruffles.                             

The Scale of Lies vs. The Calipers of Truth

In the Middle Ages, they had guillotines, stretch racks, whips and chains. Nowadays, we have a much more effective torture device called the bathroom scale. Stephen Phillips

The scale sucks.

I've been on this journey of health and fitness for two years, this month.  I started in April of 2011, needing to get "back on the wagon".  I hired a personal trainer, for 5 weeks, who came to our home for workouts 2x a week.  I needed someone else to help me be accountable, to get started.

The way the trainer began was with photos, and taking measurements, including weight.  It wasn't pretty.  Five weeks later, the scale had barely moved.  I mean - barely (less than two pounds lost).  I had been working out regularly and watching my food.  I felt discouraged and frustrated.  Why bother?  The trainer wanted me to focus on the fact that in 5 weeks, I had lost about 2% body fat, and 2 inches off various measured parts.  I didn't care.  I wanted that scale to be lower!

While a big part of my mind wanted to quit, an even bigger part of me wanted to succeed.  So, when my personal training sessions ended, I joined a local gym in June of 2011.
One of the most important lessons I learned from the personal trainer was to "mix it up".  I had always run, but I had gotten into a rut of running about 3 miles or 30 minutes (never more), 2-3 times a week, and that was it. 

The trainer helped me learn how to incorporate weights, various cardio, and strength.

So, at the gym, I made it a point to utilize the weights.  I started changing up my running.  Sometimes I would run at the same pace for 30 minutes, but other times, I would incorporate sprints and walking into a session.  In stretching my personal-self (remember Charlotte 10-Miler post?  anti-social introvert), I joined the early morning spin classes.  It was difficult at first. I didn't know anyone, and the workout was more challenging than I anticipated.  By the end of the summer, I knew the instructor very well, and a few of the regular classmates.  At this point, two years later, I count these people as some of my best friends, and fitness supporters.

Said fitness instructor (she teachers all the morning spin classes), has become one of my best friends, and health and fitness resources.  Over the past couple years, she has helped coach us on all things fitness and nutrition.  One of the best lessons?  Get rid of my scale.

Yes, get rid of the scale. . .The Scale of Lies.
Now, seriously, the scale doesn't lie.  My weight is my weight.  However, my weight does not define me, OR my level of fitness.  This can be very discouraging, because most doctors (and most people in general) use weight as the main guideline of "fit".  No one ever asks for body fat percentage!  No one ever asks for measurements!  The focus is generally on weight.

Initially, I used to keep track of every bite of food that went into my mouth (this is a great way to lose weight, by the way.  I highly recommend tracking your food, if you have never done it).  However, I have an OCD personality - and I tend to go at stuff 110%.  It was really messing with my head to keep track of every calorie, gram of fat, and number on the scale.  It would ruin my whole day if I got on the scale in the morning, and had gained .1 of a pound.

The fitness instructor pinches our fat every few months.  She is trained, and uses calipers to "pinch" three areas on the body, and then has some formula that, fairly accurately, measures body fat percentage.  THIS is a better indicator of fitness, than just numbers on a scale.  In addition, a few times a year, I check out my measurements (upper arm, chest, waist, hips, thigh, calf).  The body measurements and caliper body fat percentage are how I measure MY level of fit.

From April 2011 to April 2013, I have lost only 7 pounds.  That's right, I am only 7 pounds lighter than when I started this journey 2 full years ago.  BUT (and it's a smaller butt, ha ha), I am rocking 15.5% less body fat and 8 3/4 " less in body measurements.

Strong

is

the new

Skinny

Thing. Hobby. Passion. Oh My!

The evolution of thing, hobby, and passion.

Several days ago, my mother shared with me, after reading my blog, that my posts made her almost want to start running.  This was a great compliment, in my opinion.  (It would have been THE best compliment, if she had actually started running because of my posts). 

I am enthusiastic about running and fitness, and if nothing else, I hope it does carry over into my writing.  Perhaps, it will inspire others to find their inner peace?

I workout 6 mornings a week.  Five days a week, I am up by 4:50am, in order to get to the gym to workout for at least an hour before my "workday" begins.  Three mornings a week I take a spin class.  Two mornings a week are bootcamps.  "You're crazy," my husband tells me regularly.  I am crazy, but it has nothing to do with my morning workouts.  That is my sanity time.

Let me tell you a story.  Get your cup of coffee, tea, water, whatever - and get comfortable. 
Several years ago, my husband and I were seeing a therapist together.  There was a lot going on in our lives, and in an effort to sort through it without killing each other, we went to a therapist to help guide us.
At one particular session, I remember venting that my husband had "too many things".  I recall angrily listing all the things he did that kept him from our family, kept him up late at night -
tools, woodworking, guitars, music nights/days/gigs, beer and beer making.  He quickly responded about me, "She doesn't have any things!"  "She needs a hobby," my husband continued. 
At the time, I was hurt and angry.  I had a hobby - I read!  I love books and I love reading.  That counts right?  What good would come of a hobby?  More time away from the kids?  More money being spent on things? 

I mulled this over for a long time. 

Several nights ago, while thinking about my mom's comment that started off this post, I realized that Running & Fitness had become my "hobby".  But not just a hobby, a lifestyle - my passion. 
What good would come of this?  I have found my inner peace.  I have found my sanity. 
More time away from the kids?  That's not a bad thing!  It gives me direction and time to process.  It makes me a better mother.
More money to spend on things?  Well, true.  But it's money well spent, in all our opinion!

Running and fitness are not just a hobby, to me.  I am passionate about what I do, and what I practice.  I enjoy sharing it with others, encouraging others, and challenging myself. 
Because it's a passion - it's a part of my life, it's a part of me. 
It helped my marriage.
No longer do I resent my husbands things - I support them, I encourage him - and he does the same for me.  Instead of separating us, these things bring us together - if not in our individual pursuits, in the passion of our pursuits.

Do you have a thing?  A hobby?  What's your passion?

My husband and I go on walks together several evenings a week, and I was telling him about this post the other night.  "So. . ." he said, "I was right?" 

 "Yes," I admitted, "You were right."

"Can I get that in writing?" he excitedly asked. 

Here it is honey, in writing,

"YOU WERE RIGHT."