THIS Kid.

If you loyal blog-readers will recall, there have been a few posts about my challenges with parenthood. . .In particular, challenges with our eldest son. . .

May 2013
July 2013
July 2013
December 2013
March 2014

Just to list a few.

Still, to this day - this actual day - when the phone rings from the school, I still feel a pit in my stomach about bad news.  Did he have a meltdown?  What has gone wrong now?

So, bright and early this morning, I get a call from our eldest's teacher, and my heart starts racing, and I am already reaching for my car keys to head to out the door, and she tells me -

He did so well on his quarterly assessments.  Not only did he make HUGE improvements with the actual score - he almost finished one of the tests in the allotted time, and actually finished the first test within the recommended time frame.  IF you recall anything about my son - you know this is a BIG DEAL.

My heart is bursting with happiness and pride.  I want to rent a billboard.  I want to take out a page in the New York Times.  I want to get a fly-by plane banner.  I want to scream this from the rooftops for all to hear and know - that I am so proud of my son.

When I picked my son up from school today, I asked him, "Did Ms E tell you about your test results?"
"Yes," (hey, he's a teenager, sometimes one-word is all I get).
"You worked hard, took your time, and improved.  What do you think about it?"
"It's because I'm in the right school for me," he replied simply.

I am glad he recognizes that truth.  He is in the right school - which is a whole different story.  It does make a world of difference.
However, we are also standing on YEARS of hard work, therapies, therapists, doctors, strategies, conferencing, planning, behavior charts, lists, and. . .our amazing school from K-7th grade:  Community School of Davidson.
We had incredible educators every year - our son was surrounded and scaffolded by caring, highly qualified teachers and support staff.  They got us through a lot of very rough times to get to this point.

We also know that this is not the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - but it is most definitely a mark of success along the right path.  There will be more downs, and hopefully a lot more ups.

We absolutely recognize that our son is in the right school for him and again, he has amazing teachers.
And most importantly, he is doing the work.  He is applying the strategies that we worked on for years.  He is an incredible, hard-working, kind, thoughtful teenager - and I had been fairly certain, early on, that days like these would never happen.

This.  Kid.

Easy As Pie

We are slowly settling into our new home town.  I won't say home, as we are still in the midst of remodeling construction, and there will not be any unpacking or getting settled into our actual home for at least another month.



I had decided, prior to our actual move here, to use this move as an opportunity to stretch my anti-social wings.  Our home is located very close to the downtown area of our new town - walking and bike riding distance.  During one of our early morning weekend walks downtown with my husband, I noticed a flyer at a restaurant - local community events and classes - as a way to meet new people and get together.   The particular class I was interested in, had only one more spot available AND it was for that upcoming Tuesday night.  I joined the group, and registered.  I was in - easy.

The class:  Pie Make and Bake!

There is a local shop downtown, called The Pie Chest.  I had not been yet, but had heard really great things about it.

Those who know me well, know I love to bake:  brownies, cookies, donuts, cakes, muffins. . . Interestingly, when I am stressed, I want to run.  It is like an itch, that must be scratched.  However, with my health issues this past year, and not being able to run - baking became my new relaxation strategy.  Luckily, I took my recovery seriously, and am now able to run again - only up to 3 miles, and not very fast, but it is better than nothing - and helps to offset my baking/sweet tooth addiction.

However, now that we are moved, but not unpacked, I cannot bake.  We have no kitchen.  This remodel is stressing me out AND I CAN'T BAKE.

One thing that I have not attempted, due to being totally intimidated, is Pie.  My husband loves pie.  It is his birthday request every year.  Pie.  My mother-in-law came to visit us once, and she baked two pies, from scratch, and made it look so easy.  My stepmom is phenomenal cook and baker.  Her pies could be award-winning, and again, she makes it look so easy.  But she bakes her pies very different from my mother-in-law.  Which way is the right way?  They both make them delicious, but is one way better?  Easier?  Healthier?

So, I signed up for the Pie Make and Bake! class, and figured, I would just give it a go.  The idiom Easy as Pie had to come from somewhere, right?  How hard could it be?

Making pie is not easy.  However, it is not has bad as I had built it up in my mind.  I think part of my success, and newfound desire to make pies, is because our instructor was fabulous.  As an educator myself, I feel pretty confident in saying that our Pie Instructor is an excellent teacher.  She was patient, clear, and personable.  I loved her introduction story of how she got her start.  She answered all our questions.  She worked at a front table, while us students worked at our own tables, facing her.  We could see exactly what she was doing, and she watched us carefully.

It really helped to be in such a small group.  Our instructor was able to come check our mixture and dough consistency, which is very important.  I really liked her visual comparisons (our dough mixture was supposed to look like a feta consistency).   The technical terms helped too - "smooshing" the butter into the flour mixture.  It helped to see my classmates working too - we could compare and share. Honestly, it was a perfect intro class for learning how to make pie!

 MY pie dough that I made during class.

The biggest indicator that it was a success was that as soon as I left, I wanted to come home and practice!  That will have to wait a month or so, in the meantime, I will just have to go to the The Pie Chest and try all the pies - you know, research.

Easy as pie.

2016 In a Nutshell

From fall 2015 through summer 2016 I suffered from plantar fascitis.  It started in the early fall, and yet I kept pushing.  I didn't listen to my body, and by Christmas 2015, I could barely walk.  Three doctors and 1 physical therapist later - 3/4 of my medical team declared that I should not ever run again.

I've never smoked, but quitting running felt like what I imagine quitting smoking feels like?
It was a constant ache.  I would wake up, and want to run.  I would be out driving and see runners, and want to run (or run them over - jealous much?).  It was a weight that I couldn't shake.  Nothing was the same - I picked up my cycling (no impact), but still missed running.  Yet, at this point, I was still struggling with walking.  Running was out of the question.

By summer 2016 my heel was not hurting, but I was also not running.  However, I could barely do anything.  After months of blaming the southern heat for my constant exhaustion, addiction to chewing ice, and sky-rocketing heart rate I was diagnosed with severe/critical anemia.

I won't go into the whole story with this post -
there is an entire separate post about that ordeal, that I have not decided if I will publish. . .
interested?  Let me know, and I might publish - butt (that's on purpose), careful what you ask for.

Short version is that 3 doctors, 1 surgeon, 1 surgery, and 5 months later, I am now fine.

This is the condensed version of why it has been over a year since I've blogged, why I haven't run, and why my 41st year was a health disaster. . .

Luckily, I am now in my 42nd year and all I have to do is navigate 2 kids and myself through a new state move. 
Should be a piece of cake.

Long story short. . .

We are mid-move from NC to VA.

I've not blogged in over a year.

I have not run a race in over a year.

My 41st year was a health disaster from beginning to end.

My kids and husband are awesome.

Where to start?

Stay tuned. . .

Cycle-ogical

It's Spring!  The temperatures are warmer, and the sun is shining longer.


It's the time of the year, when I hop back onto my bicycle after taking the winter months off.  In preparation, I had my bike tuned up and cleaned a month ago.  Then, I just needed to find the time.  This past Friday, a friend, who had not ridden in a long time either, had a morning free.  So we agreed that our first ride should be together.  We'd take it slow, to reacquaint ourselves with being clipped in, and riding.


I had new bike shoes, so my biggest concern was getting clipped in and out smoothly at stops.


That should not have been my biggest worry.


My friend and I left from a local YMCA.  Just leaving the parking lot, I was dying.  She was leisurely cruising ahead, looking effortless on her bicycle, while I huffed and puffed up the short hill to the main road.  Good grief!  I had thought I was still in good shape - I'd been running and doing bootcamp, after all.


No luck.


As we continued to ride - her, not sweating and breathing normally. . .me, about to have a heart attack, and having to stand up to pedal on relatively flat roads, I kept messing with the gears on the right hand side of my bike, trying to make it easier, and not succeeding. . .


Until about 15 minutes into the ride - when I remembered. 
There are gears on the left side of the bike too. . .

Really, if people needed a license to ride a bike, I think mine would be revoked.


I'm blaming this on turning 40.

Mommies Need Playdates Too

This time, two weeks ago, I was in Mexico. . .

Hotel Entry

Every year, I get together with two of my best friends, from high school.  Normally, they fly to NC and we hang out for a mellow weekend.  This year, however, we are all turning the big 4-0, and we decided that milestone warranted a big trip.

After much discussion and research, we decided on Mexico.  6 days, 5 nights.  All-inclusive. Sunshine.  Ocean.

Coordinating and planning was relatively easy (thanks AAA).  Having this trip to look forward to during the long winter months was wonderful. . .especially for my New England residing girlfriends. I think they were more than ready for sunshine, sand, and no snow.

We met up in Charlotte on a Tuesday in mid-March.  Being the spatially challenged person that I am - I only got lost twice trying to find airport parking (thanks CLT construction).  Whew!  We were together at last. . .
One of my girlfriends informed me, that before leaving for this trip, she was snuggling with her daughter, and her daughter said that while she'd miss her, that she understood that "Mommies need play dates too."

When we got to Riviera Maya, Mexico - it was everything the brochure promised.
Our room was perfect (with a hammock on the balcony).
The resort was spotless and efficient (a massive amount of staff on site).
Unlimited adult beverages (helllllllo pina colada. . .and mojito. . .and margarita. . .you get the idea).
And, hammocks everywhere - by the pool, on the beach - I really think this was heaven.

Pool Area

As always, my friends and I picked right up, as if we hadn't been apart for hundreds of miles, several months, and numerous big and little life events. . .we are comfortable chatting up a storm, or sitting quietly for hours, reading, and not talking.  We did both.

Beach Area

This trip was fabulous.  I loved hanging with my friends.
We went to Tulum - and had a fabulous tour guide.

We went snorkeling and saw stingrays, beautiful fish, and amazing caves.

We sat by the ocean for hours, just reading.

I went for runs along the beach, and saw the sun rise. . .

I honestly felt more relaxed than I had in a long, long time.
I came home renewed.

Mommies need play dates too.  It's true.

Relaxed Momma in a hammock

Tea Parties, Barbies, and Rainbows - Oh My!

Last week, I ran an 11 mile trail run, in the mountains.

It was the first race, in way too long, that I enjoyed.  Honestly, I was not sure I was ready for an 11 mile trail race.  I had run a 9 mile trail race in mid-January that was depressingly difficult and slow.  In fact, about 4 miles into that race, I was ready to be done.

This 11 mile trail race though - I don't know what was different.  It was early - I had to get up about 5am, to drive 45 minutes.  It was cold - 16 degrees.  It was in the mountains (how hilly was this race going to be??).

The race started promptly at 8am in a State Park.  It was predominately on a trail, with a few small stretches of pavement.  It was beautiful - sun coming up, along the lake, cold - but green sprouts coming out of the ground along the way.  It was not a technical trail, like the January race, and it was rolling hills (nothing too outrageous).  The miles were not marked, and I did not wear a watch, but about mile 6, I realized I felt really great.  I wasn't exhausted, my body didn't hurt, and I felt really - really good.

I needed this.

Because the coming week was not really - really good.

Every now and then, my husband and I will look at each other and say, "Tea Parties."  This is what we imagine life is like when one has daughters only. . .tea parties, barbies, and rainbows. Calm.  Peaceful.
We usually say, "Tea Parties" after the boys have flooded the bathroom (again), broken the dishwasher door (again), left hand (and sometimes foot) prints on the walls (and ceilings). . .you get the idea.  I know that this is just a Grass is Always Greener mentality.  There are daughters who are probably just as destructive as our boys.  And, don't get me wrong, I LOVE my boys - but I am constantly amazed at some of the issues that I deal with having my boys.

Mother Nature decided to share some of New England's winter weather with us this week - so we did not have school the past few days.
Being trapped in my home, I decided was a great opportunity to look for a missing Science Book.  My son's 5th grade teacher had mentioned it was missing about a week ago - and while I had done a cursory glance through the house, and not found it, I decided to to don the Hazmat suit and dig into the disaster that is my house.

I did not find the science book.

BUT, I did locate 18 books that belonged to the school.  Have I mentioned that my eldest son is a hoarder?  I don't use this term lightly - he really is a hoarder.  I found these books in various nooks and crannies in his room - all belonging to the school. . .but not the Science Book.

It was really bugging me that this book was lost.  However, it did not seem to faze my son in the slightest.

First day back at school today - and I was tearing apart his cubby looking for said Science Book.  I vented to a coworker about it, and she suggested looking between car seats.  I did not find the Science Book - but I did find missing book #19.

Later in the afternoon, I got a text from the teacher - the Science Book was located - in the classroom!  Relief.  Satisfaction - I had torn the house apart, and it was truly not in the house, so I wasn't going totally crazy. . .yet.

And, a little later in the afternoon, a call from other son's teacher about his vocabulary. . .No, she was not complimenting about his amazing and correct use of words like:  irk, tremulous, boustrophedonic, or disquisitionary.  No, he was flexing his vocabulary muscles with inappropriate words for school.

So, while I sit here and figure out how to help teach my son about inappropriate words (again), I find my mind wandering to. . .tea parties. . .

A Little Something "Extra"

For a long time now, my husband and I have talked about having our kids in an activity.  For several years our eldest has been in some sort of therapy - and that was our "activity".

Now that he's done - we wanted the boys to be part of a team.  So, we decided on an after-school Running Group for Boys, offered through the school.  This seemed like the best solution because, (1) it's running, which is physical, (2) it's a team - a group of boys all about the same age, from the same school, yet it's not so much a team that my eldest will have a social meltdown, and most importantly (3) it was offered on the only day, Wednesday, that I have free to make it happen.

When we told the boys about it the Sunday prior to the start, my youngest was fine, and my eldest - had a nuclear scream-cry tantrum.  Basically, why did he have to do it?  We are the meanest parents ever.  He's going to use his money to hire a lawyer and sue us to not make him join the run group.  He hates running.  Why?  Why? Why?  This went on for the next two nights, to the point that I was ready to say, Forget it.

The Wednesday of the first Run Group, my eldest had a rough day in school - so at the end of the day, the teachers had a mini meeting with my son and myself to discuss the day.  After a few minutes of chatting, he burst into tears and said, "I don't want to run!"

Sometimes, I think it would be just as productive for me to bang my head against a wall.

Not caving in, I marched my boys (thirty minutes late) to the Run Group - where my children proceeded to immediately join in the insanity that is ten boys ages 8-10 running around in a confined space.  Within ten minutes, my eldest announced, "I don't like Run Group, I LOVE Run Group."

I went off in search of the nearest wall to bang my head. . .and then to go see if Starbucks would add a little something "extra" to my coffee.

What goes on in my kids' heads?  Why did this have to be such a struggle?  What did he imagine Run Group would be like that he was so upset initially?  Maybe I need to be adding a little "extra" something to their morning OJ?

On the other hand - what is going on in my youngest son's head?
The other day, I coordinated and chaperoned a local fieldtrip, for my youngest son's 3rd grade class.  We had been learning about the businesses and our city, so we took a fieldtrip to the bank.
I had taken my eldest son and his 3rd class on this very same fieldtrip, to this very same bank, two years prior.
Two years ago, my eldest son's class spent a ridiculous amount of time in the safety deposit vault room.  They were stuck on the fact that the tour host banker mentioned about the room being fire proof, so people left their valuables in these boxes.  Fire proof?  For the next 20 minutes, the kids wanted to know if the room was safe from hurricanes, tornadoes, flooding, tsunamis (because North Carolina is known for it's tsunami season) - then they started combining disasters, "What if there is a hurricane AND a tsunami?"

So, heading into this year's fieldtrip, I felt prepared.  We prepped in advance.  No need to worry about natural disasters kids!

We get to the bank.  I'd been emailing with the Tour Banker (same lady as two years prior).  We could handle all the natural disaster questions.  We were ready!
Not for this group.

"What happens if you lose your key to your safe deposit box?"  (what is it with this part of the tour?)  "Why do they have to drill it out?"  "How long does it take to drill it out?"  "What kind of drill do you use?"  "Will it go faster if you use two drills?"

Seriously kids?  We've been studying banking:  checking, savings, loans, interest!

"Have you ever been robbed?"  "How long would it take for a robber to drill in?"  "If there are two robbers could they do it faster?"

Then, from my son, "How long would it take the police to get here?"  "What if someone wants to drill through the foot thick safety door to the deposit boxes?  Could they do it before the police get here?"

"What are you planning?" I asked him.

Walking away, with a sly smile, he said, "Nothing."

Clearly looking distraught, at the thoughts racing through my head - namely that I will have a future baking cakes with nail files in them, the assistant teacher tried to comfort me with, "Maybe he will be an architect, planning how to make things more safe."

Or maybe, we all need a little "extra" something to survive parenthood.
I'm going for a run.

4-uh-0

The universe has a terrific sense of humor.

My last race of the year was a couple weeks ago.  The Huntersville Half.  Not my favorite race, but I like the date - right between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I went into it with no expectations.  I have been struggling with a hamstring issue, and was at the beginning of a horrible chest cold.  Nothing like falling apart, right before a race.

I started running with a friend, but by mile 6 pulled ahead.  Before the end of mile 7, I had passed the 2:00 hour pacer person, and all I could think of was, "Don't lose it."  So a race that I went into feeling like crap, and not having any goal, other than to get a good workout on a freezing Saturday morning, became a. . .race.  I could not, mentally, allow that 2:00 hour pacer to pass me.  So I didn't.  I finished in 1:59, and then fell apart.  I was sick the rest of the weekend, and then spent the following week caring for sick children.

With Winter Break finally here though, I figured it would be a good opportunity to relax, clean, and just be with the family.

In a totally un-me like move, I decided to NOT make holiday cards this year.  Like the Huntersville Half, it didn't start out that way - but it quickly evolved into an executive decision, to save my sanity.  I cannot get a picture of my kids that is even halfway decent.  One or both is in constant motion, there is always at least one set of bunny ears in the picture, and I am lucky to get one of them looking at the camera - if I am lucky.  It was stressing me out too much.  It's still stressing me out, but I don't know what to do about it.  Maybe buy a picture frame from the store, with a gorgeous stock family photo, and send that out?  I might resort to that. . .

Now that we are all slowly recovering from our chest colds, I got the great news (sense sarcasm here folks) that I need gum surgery.  Now.  So, this very afternoon, I will be getting some (hopefully awesome) drugs, and getting my gums rebuilt.  I won't go into detail - in fact, I asked the Dentist to stop telling me about the procedure because it was freaking me out.  I feel like I need meds now, just to get to the appointment.

I remember, when complaining about getting older, my father said, "At some point, it is just about fixing all the parts before they fall off."  I am there. . .Gums.  Check.

And, because the universe has a great sense of humor, what do I get in the mail, but a notice for a mammogram!  Really?  They couldn't wait a few more weeks until I was at least truly 40?  No, let's add insult to injury and just hit me all at once with the fact that I am turning 40.

What are you doing for the Big 4-0, you might ask me?  Well, let me tell you!  I will be a single mother, while my husband goes off to Vegas for the week.
Now, I know he is going for work, and will most likely be doing this:

But, as he is going to Vegas, all I can picture, is that he will be doing this:

During MY Birthday week.

Oh universe, you are hilarious.

Pay It Forward

Last month I was SuperWoman.

Okay, maybe not officially SuperWoman, but I felt like it.

I organized two volunteer days at our local Soup Kitchen, for the cycling group to which I belong.  I had enough interest, that we reserved a two-hour time frame on a Thursday and a Friday, so that all who wanted, could participate.  Several fellow riders who were interested in helping, but could not take the time off work, donated much needed items to the Soup Kitchen.

It was amazing, and I hope to do it again in the spring.  We prepared meals and served food.  It was both humbling and rewarding.  I'm very aware that my family is very, very lucky.  If we need something, we usually get it.  I do not take my house, car, food and love for granted.  I know we are truly blessed to have ALL that we do. . .

My family is not wealthy.  If we were, I'd probably quickly put us into the poverty category with my book shopping and/or need to donate money to every possible charity.

BUT, I do have time.  I can give that - and I try to, whenever possible.
It feels good to give.

While at one of the Soup Kitchen events, a fellow cyclist asked if I was interested in running in a local 10-miler race.  "It's near Charlotte, I think it's the Gastonia 10-Miler," she said.  I like 10 miles.  I like local.  Sure, why not.

However, after I got home, and actually looked the race up, it is actually called the Spencer MOUNTAIN 10-Miler. . .for a reason.

See, the first 5 or so miles are relatively flat, but see the second half?  See all those ups and downs?  See that BIG UP about 7.5 miles into the race?  And it keeps going up. . .Yeah, that is Spencer Mountain.

Needless to say, I ran that race.  I ran that Mountain.  I can now never complain about a "hilly" race, because that one beats all others.

That said, today I ran the (very hilly, but no mountains!) Pay It Forward 5K.  This was an amazing race, put on by a wonderful woman, with an incredible theme.  Pay - It - Forward.  Every runner (and walker) who crossed the finish line was given a water bottle with money inside.  The amounts ranged from $10-$500.  Then, we can use that money to - Pay It Forward.  There was even a tent sent up at the finish with a list of local charities and items needed, if you needed some suggestions.

Pay It Forward.

I don't usually have money to give - just time, as I mentioned.  I really wanted that $500 because then I could have split it up among the many charities I would like to donate to - I got $20.  I am torn about donating to the Soup Kitchen - always a worthwhile charity, in my book.  Or also, tis' the season, I know some local teachers who could use a little "pick me up" and I am debating on surprising them with coffee one cold morning?

Or, I could just start to dig a little deeper, into my own pocket and do both - because really, giving feels just as good, if not better, than getting.

Pay It Forward.

Rocktoberfest 2014 (aka HILLtoberfest)

Yesterday, I ran my 11th Half Marathon.

It is the first race I did not have butterflies before a race.

What was different?  I am still not sure - just that I did not have pre-race anxiety, like I usually do. I just wanted to get started (the race began about 4 minutes late, according to my watch), and about mile 8, I just wanted to be done.

I had not been looking forward to the race, because I do not feel that I trained as much as I would have liked.  Life, you know?  It was in Charlotte, which I hate driving in.  It would be hilly.
However, I had not run in a race since June.  I've been trying to cut back - but not that much, so I was due for a race.
I was looking forward to running through neighborhoods - I always enjoy looking at houses.

Last blog I wrote about how awesome running HILLS can be. . .this week, I would like to say, Hills Suck.

If it's at all possible, I think the race yesterday was entirely uphill.  With a few more uphills for funsies.  I was moderately familiar with the course, as I think it was very close to the Ramblin Rose Half Marathon I ran a couple of years ago.  I knew about the Big Hill at mile 5.  I forgot about the other big hills at miles 7, 8, 10, 11 and 12.

That said, I did fairly well.  I ran with a friend until Mile 4.25, at which point we got separated.  After that, I ran my own pace, enjoyed looking at the houses, thanking all the police officers, volunteers, and spectators, high-fiving children standing on sidewalks to cheer on their families, and grooving to my playlist.

Hillly and humid - I had a good run.

Eleven 1/2 marathons, and maybe I've just found my groove?  I know what to expect.  I know what to wear, and how to prepare.  I know that I will finish.
Or, maybe, I am finally confident in my abilities as a runner?

I know that I CAN do this. . .

And I am glad I learned to use the chaffing cream in places where one would not normally think chaffing could occur.

Hills

When I am out driving, I am always on the lookout for new routes for my running and/or cycling.  I look for roads that are not too busy, not a lot of big hills, and if possible, scenic.

Yet, I've learned that when driving, a road can seem relatively flat - until you are cycling on it, and especially, when you run on it.  There is a neighborhood near me where I like to do my long runs - it's very safe, has lots of beautiful homes - quite a few on the water, and it seems mostly flat - and it is for this area. . .until I run it.

What seems flat in my car, and moderately flat on my bicycle, feels much more up and down when I run.

And that's fine.

Hills make me stronger.

I have not done a long run, in a long time.  I have a 1/2 coming up next month though, and really wanted to get in a long run prior to the race.  So, this weekend, I picked my favorite long route, in the above-mentioned safe, beautiful neighborhood - headed out early - and had my long run.

As I ran, I found myself thinking about:  my sons, and the many small dips and climbs along the route - that I usually think of as flat.  There are a lot of similarities.

This August, we started back to school.  My eldest, in 5th grade, my youngest in 3rd.  We got off to a great start.  Great, doesn't even really begin to cover it.  My eldest is doing really, REALLY well.  I feel like I am holding my breath - waiting - for what?  For 5 years and a little of the 6th year, I frequently fielded weekly, if not daily, meltdowns from my child, teacher concerns, academic battles, social struggles, etc.  Last year it was significantly less.  This year, thus far, nonexistent.

We are on a flat stretch of road.

Yet, as I was on my long run, I was reminded that no road is perfectly flat.  I've learned, as I am now in my 3rd year of serious running, that I actually do not like races that are "flat".  I even run slower, and struggle more on "flat" courses, than if there are at least a few hills or rolling hills.  Don't get me wrong, flat stretches are nice, as a recovery to prepare for the hills.

I prefer the give and take of having to work up a hill, and coming down.  I like that I have to use different muscles, including my brain, to make it up a hill.  I enjoy the challenge of it.

And, it makes me stronger.

While my son and I are on a relatively flat portion of our journey, I know that there will be hills.  There are still our normal daily hurdles.  We are working hard, but we are certainly enjoying this stretch of our run.  We have climbed a lot of hills, we will climb more - and be fine - because we are stronger.

Race Bibs, Shirts, and Medals - Oh My!

You run.
You bike.
You Tri.

What are you doing with your race bibs?  Your mountains of race shirts?  All those awesome medals?

I think each athlete has their own "thing".  I have friends who love to run for the "bling" - the amazing medals.  There are people who have their race shirts made into blankets.  Personally, I like to collect my race bibs.  Some are plain - really only a number.  Some are much more colorful, and now and then, even personalized, with my name.

I've written before about my Mile 22 bag.

I love it.

This is my exercise bag - and I have used it for more than a year now - and it's still in perfect condition.  This bag holds everything I need for my workouts and races, it is tough, it reflects my hard work.

Mile 22 Race Day Tote carries it ALL:
I take mine to work every day, in case I get a chance to run.  I also pack it up whenever I have a ride or race.  It holds my workout gear, shoes, and all my workout junk - you know - SpiBelt, KT-Tape, face wipes, GUs, gum, extra socks, hat, water bottles, Garmin, iPod, and kitchen sink.  You get the idea.

Mile 22 Bags say, "You're Awesome!":
Come on runners - we are not a shy group.  We proudly wear our race shirts.  We slather the back of our vehicles with a variety of stickers and magnets advertising our accomplishments - 26.2, 13.1, TRI, Runner Girl.  Mile 22 takes your hard earned race bibs, race shirts, and can even use the ribbons from your medals to make a personalized bag for YOU.  Why not have a bag that you can carry around to show off - since we can't lug our cars with us into the store.

Mile 22 Bags Can Improve Your Social Life:
To me, carrying around my bag (which goes to work with me every day) - is like wearing one of my race medals after a race.  I am proud.  I make new friends.  People will stop me and ask about my bag, and point to one of the bibs and ask, "Did you run that one?  I did!", and I get to meet a fellow runner.

Mile 22 Bags Can Save the World:
Well, this one might be a slight exaggeration - BUT, your Mile 22 bag purchase can help St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.
Seriously.

I am honored and excited to be an Ambassador for Mile 22 Bags - can you tell?

When you click on the Mile 22 links on this page, you can place an order that is connected to me.  I've chosen to support St. Jude's Charity.  I do not profit at all - but St. Jude's will receive $10 from every bag purchased through my link.  You get, and you give.
View/Order Mile 22 Bags

In addition - from now through November 30th - you can receive 10% off your purchase when you enter my specific code:  ROCKTOBERFEST.

You're welcome.

I. Can. Do. It.

My  husband just returned from 5 days and 4 nights away.

I was moderately prepared for 4 days and 3 nights, but he texted late on the 3rd night that he would be gone another day.   It was his birthday "weekend", so, kudos to him - but - I really, really missed him.

"Is it hard dealing with the boys yourself?" my Mom asked.

No.  The boys were great.  It was that I missed my husband - I missed my best friend.  And, where he was had horrible cell service so phone calls and texting were extremely limited.
And, yes, the single parenthood thing is exhausting.  I couldn't go to the gym.  I couldn't participate in my weekly bike ride group.  I got to have a fabulous (sarcasm, folks) "boy body" discussion with my boys.

I had to handle Monday, by myself.

This week is the ONE week that my eldest son goes to camp this summer.  Before school was out, he was adamant that he attend the JA Biz Town summer camp.  JA Biz Town is a program in the public schools, and my son enjoyed it so much, that he was determined to go to their camp this summer.

Me, being more uncertain about him attending a non-school related camp, was much less determined.  I procrastinated on registering, in the hopes he would just forget about it.

He didn't.

So, I figured out a week that we would be around, and signed him up.  There was a lot of paperwork.  I am always unsure of how much to share about my often challenging son.  He had a great school year, and was doing so well, I erred on the side of positive optimism and mentioned that he could get upset and would need a quiet space, if so.  That's about it.

You know where this is going.

Yesterday was the first day of camp.  No husband at home.  The day started with two tired, cranky kids, "Why do we have to get up so early?  I didn't realize we would have to get up so early!  I don't want to go!"

I can do this.

The drive to Charlotte is 26 miles.  It took 1 1/2 hours.  By the final 30 minutes, the language out of my mouth was most definitely R-rated.

I hate driving.  I have driving if the sun is shining.  I hate driving in unfamiliar places.  I hate traffic.
For my son?  I can do this.

This drive took 90 minutes, in traffic, in a torrential downpour.  By the time we arrived at camp, I was ready to rent a hotel room for the week, just so I wouldn't have to drive again.

In an effort to not do this drive more than once a day, I had planned out awesome activities for me and 8 year old son.  Unfortunately, 80% of the planned activities were outdoors.  Mother nature had other plans.  Mmmwwwahhhhh.  So, we ended up at Ray's Splash Planet (indoor water fun).  We managed to get in one hour before everyone had to exit the pool.  Who knew there was a no swimming policy during thunderstorms?  Now you know.

So, we hopped in the car, and headed out for lunch.  Again, in a torrential downpour.
And what is up with city driving??  Streets in Charlotte are insane.  Every other street is ONE WAY, except when it isn't, and you can only go straight.  And streets that I couldn't make a left down in the morning, were suddenly left turn only?

And parking?  I spent  my children's college funds to park for 3 hours in Charlotte.

I can do it.  Right?  It will be okay.  I don't want to do it though.  I am hating every second of being in Charlotte, of trying to figure out the streets, of trying to find parking. . .

Then, the camp calls.  "Can we talk about your son?"
Why?  Why can't I just drop him off and have it all be okay?
When I finally pick up my son at 3pm, he gets in the car and doesn't say anything.  Fifteen minutes (and 4 wrong turns later) on our drive home, he says, "Camp was good.  I really like the teacher."

oooookay?

Then, at 6pm, as I am preparing dinner, sans the husband still. . .the phone rings.  Caller ID - it's the camp.  "Can we talk about your son again?"

At this point.  I am ready to cry.
As we sit down to dinner, and I am completely ready to say, "I can't" to the rest of this week.
I tell my son about my conversations with the race director.  I am fully prepared for us to not return.

"I want to try again tomorrow.  I can do it.  I want to do this, " my son tells me, with tears in his eyes.

Deep breath.  Mentally I am thinking, "I can't do this!"  I am screaming this in my head, but I say, "Okay, let's do this."

Today, it takes 45 minutes to get to Charlotte.  I drop off my son and return back home.
At noon, the camp calls, "Your son is having a great day!"

I feel myself exhale - a little.

The drive back to Charlotte for pick-up:  32 minutes.
At carpool, I see a grown-up walking my son towards the car.  I quickly debate on staring straight ahead and pretending like I don't see her.  Did the afternoon deteriorate?  Did my son meltdown?
Please, just get in the car, and let's make a quick getaway.  Maybe I can pretend to be the Nanny?

As my son climbs in the car he announces, "This is Ms. L and she has to talk to you."

Crap.  I can't do it!
I roll down the window, prepared to explain how I am the Nanny. . .
"Hi,!" says Ms. L, "I don't HAVE TO talk with you, I just wanted to meet you because we've chatted so much."
Oh, well, in that case, big smile - and I am the Mom.
"Your son had a wonderful day.  He did great!" She announced, and was just as excited as I was, and from the back seat, my son declared, "I did it. . .and I'll be back tomorrow!"
I'm so proud of my son.  I am proud that he overcame his anxiety, and was determined to return to camp, even though I gave him an out.  I am proud that he wanted to do it on his own, and that he turned the situation around.  I am proud that he did it.

He can do it.  So, I can too.

Maine: Wicked Good!

We have just returned from a trip to Maine.  Both my husband and I went to high school there (that's where we met), and we still have family there.  It had been two years since our last visit, so we were due for a trip.

The drive is hellacious.  It took us 19 hours going up - and we drove straight through.

However, once in Maine. . .It was heaven.  Maine in the summer is beautiful, especially early summer.  No black flies, low humidity, mild temperatures.  The only negative is that the lakes and ponds are still pretty cold - but that didn't deter the kids!

This visit was short.  We were there less than a week, and there is A LOT of family to see.  Luckily, my husbands family (which is huge), coordinated, and we were able to have a massive gathering at my husband's older sister's house one day.  My husband is one of ten siblings and 6 others are still in Maine, so we had a great turnout.
In addition, many (many, many) cousins are about the same age as our boys, so it was Cousin-Fest '14, and they had a blast.  In fact, seeing my boys with their cousins made the entire trip worthwhile.  It made us sad that we don't live closer to family - and that these visits are too few and far between.

For the first hour of the car ride home we found ourselves brainstorming ways we could move back to Maine and be closer to family. . .then, we talked about winter, and I am over that!  No way could I survive Maine winters again.

An added bonus for me, on this trip, is I fell back in love with running.  I have been struggling for a few months now to find my groove.  While in Maine, I was stretched way beyond my normal comfort zone - I don't like traveling, the drive was horrible, I was functioning on very little sleep, I was in large social gatherings - I was stressed!!!  I made it a point to run almost every day I was there - and with these sorts of views - I found my running mojo.  I looked forward to running.  I felt better after running.  Most importantly - I wanted to run.  I had missed that.

Before we left for Maine, I was not sure what my workout/running opportunities would be, so I registered for a Thursday night, 4-mile race in a nearby town.  That way, I knew I would have at least that opportunity to run, if nothing else.  I didn't wear my running watch, because I just wanted to relax, and enjoy running in a new place on a new route.

Someone near me during the race had a watch that beeped.  When my watch beeps, it means I have completed a mile.  So, I was shocked, after listening to her watch beep a couple times, when we approached the 1st mile marker!  By the time I hit the 2nd mile, I was seeing black spots and wanted to pass out.  What was wrong with me?  Was it because of elevation?  Environment?  Allergies?  I finished the race fairly strong and was SHOCKED to see that I ran in just under 35 minutes, for an 8:42 pace.  For the last several months, it has been an effort to run at a 9:20 pace.  Maybe I should move back to Maine?

In addition, my mother, found her protegee, I think.  She is a professional knitter, and has tried to teach me and my brothers with no success.  Well, my 8 year old picked it up immediately, and loves it.  My mother is thrilled.

The car ride home was just as hellacious, if not more so, than the ride up. . .For some unknown reason, the GPS re-routed us and I think we spent an extra hour on the road in Connecticut.  To compound the stress, my youngest gets carsick - at least this time, instead of redecorating the interior of the car, he managed to stick his head out the car window - on the interstate - at 65 mph.  To whoever was driving behind us - I am sorry.

Overall it was a great week.  We had a wonderful time with family and friends.  Hopefully, my running mojo stays with me, and hopefully it will be less than two years before we return. . .Maybe next time we can fly?

(The view from the top floor of my Mom's house.)

Dada, Daddy, Dad. . .

Recently, my youngest son has been on a campaign to upgrade our parental names from Mommy and Daddy to Mom and Dad.

If I say, "Daddy will take you when he gets home," my youngest will say, "You mean, 'Dad'."

This has been going on for a few months (because clearly, I don't catch on quickly - and it's hard to break a 10 year old habit).  When I asked why the name change, my youngest sincerely responded, "It's more grown-up."

Okay.  I get it.  Kind of.

As much as we are 3-5 years out from the Teen-Years, I know that the time is coming when our boys will call us much worse names, probably accompanied by an "I hate you" and possibly even some door slamming.

So, I guess for now, we will embrace the shortened, but still appropriate titles of Dad and Mom.

Because, really, no matter what they call us - we are still their parents.

On that note, my husband is a wonderful father.

Quite often I find myself thinking about how lucky our kids are to have him as a Dad.  They truly do not know how lucky they are, because my husband off sets my crazy enough that my kids might just have a shot at a normal upbringing.

Nothing seems to faze my husband.  He is truly one of the most laid-back men I have ever known - which again, is wonderful, because I am one of the most high strung people I know.
Yin and yang, people, yin and yang.  That's how we roll.

Our boys' deafening noise level?  My husband doesn't bat an eye.

The other night at the dinner table, without missing a beat, my husband says to our youngest, "Eat your dinner, not your boogers."  Then returned to our conversation, like the sentence he just uttered was a completely normal part of any conversation.  Mr. Laid Back.

I call my husband at work, practically in tears, because yet another part of our home/car/electronics has been destroyed by our children.  Often, my husband will respond with, "Yeah, sounds about right."

The other night, after reminding the boys for the, I don't know, 5000th time that we do NOT ride our scooters in the house - my husband comes in from outside, hops on one of said scooters and - rides around the house.  "I was just moving it from the back door to the front door," he clarified in response to my 5001 reminder about not riding the scooters in the house.

He makes us laugh, when we want to scream.  He calms us down when we get worked up.  He gives the best hugs in the entire the world.

This man.  This amazing, wonderful, hard-working, caring, loving man.  Happy "Dad's" Day.  We are ALL so, so lucky to have you in our lives.

Disconnect to Reconnect: Downhill @ Dawn

"I hate running."

This was a frequent thought of mine over the past several weeks.  I had not run a long distance (over 9 miles) since my half marathon in Raleigh in mid-April.  Particularly these past three weeks, with the weather so hot and school/work wrapping up, I had to force myself to even run 3 miles at a time.

In the past, I couldn't wait to run.  I would start thinking about it in the morning, and look forward to it - my release.  These past couple months, I dreaded my scheduled runs.  I only kept them up for the calorie burn, but there was absolutely no enjoyment.  In fact, I hated every second.

To be fair, I think a lot of it had to do with the temperatures.  My only opportunity to run was at noon - smack dab in the middle of the day, and it was terribly hot the past few weeks.  That didn't help.

My other theory was that my allergy meds were messing with me.  I am on up to three different medications - some two times a day, just to function.  But apparently, it was only just to function, because I couldn't run.  I was having trouble breathing, my legs felt like each one weighed 100 pounds.  I just didn't feel right.

This past weekend, I had a half marathon I had initially been really looking forward to - in the mountains.  For the past month though, I was dreading it.  I was running 1- 1 1/2 minutes per mile slower than my normal pace.  I didn't want to run.  I felt like crap.  In an effort to not die on the course, I quit my allergy meds three days before the race, hoping it would be out of my system.

Rock and a hard place.

No allergy meds, meant suffering with allergies - but yes, I actually felt better.  Luckily, as it was June, the worst of my allergy season was behind me, so I could manage without the meds, for the most part.

The race is called Downhill at Dawn.  It starts in Black Mountain, NC and ends in Old Fort, NC.  As it's at "Dawn", the race begins at 6:01am.

There were a lot of ladies from my local running group at this race, which made for a more fun environment.

I'm a very "glass is half empty" kind of gal.  So I went into the race with NO major goals or expectations - except to not die, and hopefully finish in less than 2 hours 30 minutes.

Because of my total lack of training for this race, I did NOT wear my Garmin.  I knew it would mess with my head to have that information - and I just wanted to run the race with no added pressure.  It felt like enough to just show up.

The first three miles were hard - both physically and mentally.  The race might have been called "Downhill" @ Dawn, but the first 5 miles or so were fairly hilly.  My legs did not feel like they each weighed 100 pounds though (no meds?), so that helped.  Also, the temps were much cooler so early in the morning, in the mountains.  Mentally, I was itching to know my pace.  About mile 3, I asked a lady in a blue shirt next to me what our pace was - and she told me a 10 minute mile.  Fine.  I was not going to break any records, but I felt good. So I figured I would just try and maintain that pace.

I kept blue shirt lady in my sights for the rest of the race.  I would pass her on the uphills, and she would pass me on the downhills.  We made a joke about it - "tagging" each other each time we went by.  At the end of the race, she came up and hugged me, and I got to thank her for being my marker on the course.  As we finished, she was just ahead of me, and they called out her name, and bib number:  106. . .I was 107.  Seems it was fitting that we motivated one another and finished as we did.

The race was absolutely gorgeous.  It reminded me of one of my other favorite scenic races (also in the mountains):  The Scream.  From mile 5-9 it was predominately downhill, rural, and very beautiful.  I used gravity to my advantage.   Miles 10-12 were difficult in that I just wanted to be done, but that is normal.  I still felt good.  Once at mile 12, we were heading into town - and I was actually pretty pumped up.

I did it.  I do not recommend not training and then racing, but it worked out for me this time.  Most importantly, I felt great about the run.  I felt like I had my body back, and it felt good to be out there, and it felt really, really good to disconnect.

After mile 3 I really enjoyed NOT having my watch.  I went with how my body felt, and that was the right thing for me at this time.

It was wonderful to disconnect - so I could reconnect with running.