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.

It's The Little Things - That Are Pretty Big

I tend to feel overwhelmed by the little things in life.  Lots of little things, over the course of the day. . .over the course of a week.  I find it difficult to let go, and enjoy a moment (or two), because I just feel a constant state of stress or anxiety - about little things.

Recently, we went to my Dad and Stepmom's.   My stepsister was visiting with her family, and we had not met her new son yet, so it was an exciting family get together.  Before we arrived, I reminded my boys several times to be careful with the "new" baby.  Reminding them, that since he is 7 months old, they had to be gentle with him.  I reminded them, that if they wanted to be wild or loud, they needed to go outside.  I begged them to limit bodily function noises to the car or bathroom.

All the little things I was worried about. . .and. . .
It ended up being a great visit.  The kids did great with their new cousin.  I got in some sweet baby time, and chat with my sister, whom I adore.  My boys played great with the baby, and also went outside a lot to romp through the grasses and swing on the tree swing and be loud outdoors.  It was perfect.

Until we left.

As I was walking in front of my parents' house, I noticed a massacre of several plants.  I do mean massacre.  Plant parts were everywhere - except in their proper plant growing form.  FYI - my Stepmom is a plant-enthusiast.  I don't know how else to describe it, but she is a gardener-extraordinaire.  She has beautiful gardens, plants, landscaping, etc.  These were not meaningless weeds that my son decapitated.

Of course, it was wrong of my son to destroy my Stepmom's plants - although he honestly thought they were weeds, and was very sorry.  I was so upset about the plant destruction, that I allowed it to ruin what, had really been, a 98% successful visit (which is not always the case, and really was something to celebrate).

My Dad had asked me, during our visit, "Why do you always complain about parenting?  What did you think it would be like?"

This really made me think.  I do complain a lot about parenting.  It stresses me out.  It is harder than I thought it would be.  And after this visit, I realized that a lot of my stress and anxiety revolves around the little things, the 2%.  The wrecked flower plants, rather than the 3 hours of successful behavior, conversation, and interaction.

No more.  I vowed to appreciate the other little moments, the ones that add up to the 98% of positive that is my day, that is work,  that are my children - that is life.

This past week was very stressful.  We experienced the death of a guinea pig (rest in peace Momma guinea pig), state required testing, a stomach bug that hit 3/4 of us very hard, and a wicked case of poison ivy (Stepmom's plants got their revenge on my ten-year-old).

But you know what I really remember from this past week?  Walking into my ten-year-olds classroom to check on him (poison ivy), and found him sitting on the floor next to a classmate engaged in what seemed to be a relevant and fun conversation so that I only warranted a glance and a quick smile (rather than the usual "Mommmmmy!!!" followed by a barnacle-like hug).  Don't get me wrong, I missed the love-fest greeting I usually get, but I was also impressed and pleased to see my social struggler interacting appropriately with peers.  That was a little thing, but a Big moment.

I remember my poison ivy suffering ten-year old completing his reading EOGs without complaining (which is a bonus on a good day), and doing well.  THEN getting hauled to the doctors for a poison ivy diagnosis and medication.

I remember feeling tremendous success at running 4 miles (post stomach bug), and not passing out.

I remember my 8 year old NOT even offering to help, but just helping me to carry in the massive amount of stuff I had one day after work.

I remember my two sons, sitting relaxed, and enjoying a frozen yogurt treat, having a normal conversation and my youngest son asking his big brother for a yellow gummy bear, since he didn't get a yellow one, and my ten year old just giving it to him.  No argument, No negotiation.  No blip in their conversation - just a seamless request to sharing moment.  Very mature.

I remember sitting at the table with my husband and my ten year old, and my husband and I broaching the fact that our son will soon be in 5th grade, and being more aware of his body and hygiene and maybe (gasp) even talking about s-e-x.  My ten year old quickly shot us down informing us that we did not need to talk about that at all, while from another room, my 8 year old (with selective hearing) announced, "You can talk with me about SEX!  I want to talk about it!"

Some things never change.

And the Mother of the Year award goes to. . .

Not me.            

Less than two weeks ago, my son had his 10th Birthday.  Double digits!  Very exciting for all involved.
This year, for presents, he asked for us to "surprise" him.  That's a tall order from a little guy whose world gets rocked if we switch up seats for dinner.


Reason #1 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Not wanting to have a nuclear meltdown on his birthday - I figured cold hard cash was the gift to give.  Use the money, and get what he wants.  You can't go wrong, right?  Wrong.  We did buy a couple presents, of things we knew he would like, but it seems as kids get older, their interests get more expensive.  So a couple of quality remote control items was not inexpensive.

Reason #2 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Our family tries to make a deal about birthdays.  We are not much into other traditional celebrations during the year, but birthdays are a BIG deal in our household.  We generally have birthday weekends, if not birthday weeks.  My son's actual birthday was on a Tuesday.  So, the weekend prior we did fun kid-activities that he loved.  We went out to dinner at the restaurant of his choice.  He had birthday cupcakes with brother and a friend.  On his actual birthday though - is when he gets to open the presents.  Not a moment before -
So, that morning, my husband and I made the (horrible) decision to allow him to open his presents at breakfast.  1 - We didn't think he'd make it to dinnertime, he was quite ready for the gift-giving, and 2 - I was hoping, with money-in-hand, we could head to the store of his choice right after school and he could pick out some stuff he'd been wanting.  Win-win, right?  Wrong.

My son had a brief meltdown that he only got to open 5 gifts - three of which were cards containing money.  To calm him down, I kept telling him, "But now you can get whatever you want!  It's money, so you can buy whatever you like."

Mmmmmphhhhhsts a amoney sosoyoua cadnandbuuysyswhatevryouoeulike.  (sorry, if you are having trouble understanding me, but I am eating those words).

Reason #3 I will not get Mother of the Year:
I am a wuss.
Off we go to school.  My son is upset about the lack of (surprise) gifts, and I am upset because this is supposed to be a special day and 2/3 of us are in a bad mood.

Part way through my morning at work, one of my son's teachers comes to inform that while he was initially upset in the class about his "horrible birthday", he was now calm.

Yay.

Why is he calm?  I didn't think to ask this - I should have.  It turns out the ever-so-helpful-younger-brother suggested that my 10 year old use this birthday cash windfall to get the Guinea Pig he has wanted all school year.  Thank you, 8 year old son.  Some day, when you have children, I shall get my revenge.

At this point, I honestly felt very beaten down by the whole morning.  Guinea pig was what he wanted?  He had been wanting one all year, we had researched it before (but decided, not yet) - maybe now was the time.  I wasn't prepared to rain on his birthday parade anymore.

Welcome to the family guinea pig.

Reason #1 why maybe, just maybe I could get runner-up for Mother of the Year?
It turns out that Guinea Pigs should be sold in pairs.  I've heard that before, but who really follows random advice?  So we got one piggy.  She was the most spastic and wiggly of the bunch.  My son was immediately in love.  I said, "Only one guinea pig."  And he used his money and bought the whole thing:  Guinea pig, cage, food, etc.

During the rest of the week, I found myself reading the How To Care for Your Guinea Pig book, and on every other page, the author makes a case for having two guinea pigs together.  Guilt.  It's a powerful thing.
While my boys were out of town that weekend, at Camp Grandma.  I sucked up my pride and went to the store and got a second guinea pig to keep #1 company.
"Which one do you want?" The sales lady asked.
"Your nicest one."  I replied.
She handed me a chunky, sweet black and white guinea pig, who snuggled right into my chest calmly.  Okay, I thought.  Let's go.

When my boys returned home Sunday they were ecstatic to find two guinea pigs.  The girls (the store declared they only sold female guinea pigs), got along fairly well.  The one I chose was quite calm.  It seemed all was right in the world - and, as an added bonus, we added estrogen to our home.

I've joked before about living in a "frat house". . .even our cat is male.  Well, take that testosterone.  Two female guinea pigs and me - we are gaining on you guys!

Reason #4 why I definitely won't EVER get Mother of the Year:

I must preface this next part by declaring, in my defense, that when we get home from work/school, I have a little routine.  Like ten year old son, I am a bit of a stickler for my routines (apple does not fall far from this tree).  I need to unpack bags, check for communications/homework, get out snacks, and start prepping for dinner, etc.

So, I am in the kitchen and my ten year old runs upstairs to see the guinea pigs.  He quietly comes down and tells me that I need to come see the guinea pigs, that he thinks there are babies in the cage, but he's not sure. In my frazzled, just-got-home-in-my-routine state of mind, I think, "There cannot possible be babies in that cage.  I don't know what he's seen, but not that."

"Mom, come up." He says again.
"I am busy right now," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year.
"I'll go!" volunteers my 8 year old.

"Sure," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year on this planet, or any other. "Go see what he's talking about, and let me know if I really need to come up."

I have sent my youngest son to the slaughter.

Guess what?  There was more estrogen in this house!
My youngest son comes down the stairs.  He doesn't say a word.  He looks like he has been traumatized.

I stop everything (as a true Mother of the Year would have done immediately).  Go upstairs, to discover that, Yes.  There are two - dead - guinea pig babies in the bottom of the cage.  Our two guinea pigs are huddled in the opposite corner.  I am sure they are scarred for life as well.

I stare into the cage - not wanting to, but not really believing what I am seeing, and not sure what to do.

This is not covered in the parenting handbooks.  Or the Guinea Pig Care Book I've been reading.

I slowly and quietly go downstairs.  The boys start asking questions.  I don't know how to answer.
I ask them to give me about five minutes, and then I will try to talk with them.

I call the pet store.  I think I calmly, but firmly made my feelings clear to the manager.  He was rightfully regretful, and completely willing to help in any way I wanted.  I didn't know what I wanted.  I wanted to go back in time and not deal with this - but as with all things in life and parenthood, that is not an option.

We made an appointment for the guinea pigs with the in-store Vet for that afternoon, to see our pigs - since I didn't know which one had given birth, and I was worried about their health and well being.  I also requested a bottle of wine (for me) and therapy (for my children).  We got the Vet appointment.

The boys were full of questions.  I explained that since we hadn't known a guinea pig was even pregnant, we didn't prepare properly for the birth of her babies (they are supposed to be separated from other guinea pigs).  In addition, because I didn't know if the babies had been born in the condition in which I found them (fairly gruesome), or if that had been inflicted upon them, I explained that sometimes, in nature things don't come together as they should, and these babies were not meant to be.

Long story short (too late).  ---- bonus points to anyone who knows what movie that's from.

The guinea pigs checked out as healthy.  The black and white pig that I had bought later in the week was the Momma.  We THINK they are both girls, but are to go in for a final opinion this coming week.

The boys and the guinea pigs have seemed to recovered nicely from that traumatic event.

I think I still need my bottle of wine - and the therapy.

The Finish Line

I own a lot of bags.  My favorite bag though is my Race Bag.

I earned this bag.  I worked hard for it.

There is a company, Mile 22 Bags - you can send in race bibs, shirts, ribbons, and they will make you a race bag.  I loved the idea, and saved my bibs for over a year until I had enough to send them for the tote bag I wanted.  I use this bag for workouts, carrying shoes, gels, wipes,and everything else a workout-a-holic could need.

I mention all this, because recently they asked for thoughts from their fans about The Finish Line.  So, I've been thinking about this all week, and it really has resonated with me for so many reasons.

For me, I believe, there is only one Finish Line - and I don't plan to reach it anytime soon.

However, my life is certainly filled with Goal Lines, and there are most definitely numerous mile markers along the way. . .but there is no traditional "finish".
As you know, I really enjoy running.  I don't plan to stop anytime soon.  Just because I complete a race does not mean that I am done.  In fact, I find that after a race, I am online that very evening looking for another race in which to register and start training!

There is always room for improvement.

There are often times when I lose ground.


There are other times, I make progress.

That is running.  That is life.

If you know me well, you know I suffer terribly from spring allergies.  I mean, really, really horrible reactions to pollen, trees, grass, ragweed - springtime in the south.  I can hardly run 4 miles without struggling to breathe, snot running, eyes and lips itching, and my body just wanting to give out.  The massive amount of medication I have to take in order to just function takes its toll on my as well.  This is my "take ten steps back" time in fitness.  I cannot run fast, in fact I feel like I can barely run, as I can't really be outside.

This is my cycling time.  Although I still struggle, it seems that it is not as bad when I am on a bicycle (perhaps the speed allows for a breeze, which makes breathing slightly easier?).  I still have a difficult time though, but it is a chance to get out and exercise without feeling like I am going to collapse within minutes.

But I won't give up.  This is part of the journey, the training, the beautiful challenge that is striving towards a goal - whatever that goal might be.  One day it might just be to get in 1 hour of physical fitness, whether it is a run that ends up being a walk because of allergies, or a bike ride that is a slower pace than I know I am capable of in more healthy circumstances.

I am still out there.  I am still reaching mile markers.

It is similar in parenthood too.  It is a total journey.  As my father often said, "There is no Finish Line in parenthood."  Now, as a parent, I know exactly what he means (yes, this is the equivalent of "You are right, Dad.").

There are so many steps backwards and forwards as a parent.  There are many milestones and goals to reach, but there is - thankfully - no Finish Line.  It is exhausting, it is challenging, it can be frustrating, discouraging, and yet hilarious, creative, and rewarding.

When I was younger I baby-sat. . .a lot.  I had thought parenthood would be a certain way based on those experiences, but it really is nothing like baby-sitting.
You want to know what I think makes me a better parent?  Running and cycling.
The challenge of pushing myself, finding my limits, and pushing beyond my comfort zone.  Pacing myself.  Learning when, although I don't like to do it, saying "enough is enough" and trying again the next day.  Learning to let go of my expectations, because very rarely do things go as planned, yet having expectations because having a goal gives me something to strive towards.  All these exercise skills can be applied to parenting.

My eldest son had his 10th birthday this past week.  Double digits!  We had planned for this day.  We both had an idea of how the day would be - and we were both let down.  We had to adjust.  We had to "shift".  We had to accept what was out of our control, and be grateful for what was in our reach.

While the day was a learning experience for both of us - he needed to learn that as you get older, birthdays are not like the ones you had when you were "little", and I learned that I need to clarify if I don't want to end up with a guinea pig as a family pet.

No, seriously.  Next time, instead of saying, "You got birthday money!  Now you can get whatever you want, and not be disappointed!" - I will say, "You got birthday money!  Now you can get whatever inanimate, non-living thing you want!"

This was yet another mile marker in his growing up and my parenting, that we reached, navigated, and moved beyond.  There will be another, sooner than later, I am sure.  But, there is no Finish Line.

I am fine with that, as long as I continue to learn and improve along the way.
Enjoy the journey.

Rock N Roll Raleigh - Recap

This past weekend, I ventured to Raleigh to participate in the inaugural Rock n Roll Raleigh 1/2 Marathon.

I registered a year ago.  I don't usually like to register so far in advance for a race, for a lot of obvious reasons, but I had received a very good price on the race, and - I had never been to Raleigh.  Why not?

As the race approached, my dread of attending increased.
I do not like traveling far from home (I really like sleeping in my own bed), I do not like trying to navigate my way around unfamiliar cities (not so much rural, but I do not like city traffic), and I really do not like super-large races.  Why did I register, again?

Luckily, a friend of mine also registered for the race, so we agreed to attend together.  Normally I detest driving (remember, not a fan of big city driving?!), but she really doesn't like to drive.  So, I drove her car.  We left Saturday at noon to be at the Expo by late afternoon - Rock n Roll races require bib and packet pick up prior to race day.  We went straight to the Expo, and I managed to get us there safely, which as far as I was concerned made for a hugely successful weekend, no matter what.

The Expo for Rock n Roll races is usually quite an event.  This is a large corporation - they organize and manage several national and international races.  Previously, I ran the Rock n Roll USA in DC a year ago.  I thought that Expo was much better - more vendors, more freebies, more energy.  However, it could also have been that we got there about two hours before it closed down.

On our way into the Expo, some running friends of mine from home spotted me, and we were able to connect.  It turned out that one of the other runners was the same starting corral as me, so we agreed to run together for the beginning (she was running the full marathon, and I was only running the half).

This added to my anxiety because, if you know me at all, April and May are my worst months for my allergies.  As luck would have it, I had been managing quite well until Saturday morning when they decided to hit full force.  I was a mess.  The combination of being on numerous allergy meds and the allergies themselves makes my running unpredictable, and I didn't want to hold up a friend, if my running was off.

Then, to top it off, just because of my own brand of crazy, I didn't sleep well before the race.
So, 4am on Sunday morning, my friend and I got up, hit the road, and got to the race by 4:45am, because parking was supposed to be sold-out and packed.

LET me just say here, that when I imagined writing this blog, it was very funny - full of all sorts of weekend mishaps, silly stories, and cute moments.  However, after the race, there was very sad news, which made my feelings about the race bittersweet.  So I will just recap my race experience. . .

The race was supposed to start at 7am, but due to traffic and parking issues it was delayed.  I met my local running friend in our corral, and it was actually really nice to have a familiar face.  I warned her of my allergies, but due to timing my medications, I actually felt pretty good, although I made sure to run with a pack of kleenex.

Rock n Roll races are very, very large, which I don't like.  The DC was even bigger compared to Raleigh though, so this one didn't seem as congested as I was afraid it might be. . .

We started late - but off we went.  Since my friend was pacing herself for a full marathon, I just paced myself with her initially.  Three miles into the race I was actually feeling really good, but the crowd was not thinning out as much as I had hoped, so my friend and I kept separating, then coming back together, separating and then reconnecting.

Finally about mile 7 - one mile before the two races split - I just ran ahead.  I missed my friend, but needed to just focus on my pace and maneuvering safely around people.  The day was HOT and the course was hilly.  Now, training in NC, I am completely used to hills.  In fact, I'd probably go into shock if I ran a flat course.  However, these hills were unrelenting.  As soon as you ran one, there was another one - very little, if any, recovery time.  I think between the heat and the hills, many runners were struggling.  I saw a lot of people using the medical tent stations provided every few miles.

In addition, I saw four people being attended to along the course by emergency personnel.  One of which, it turned out, was serious.

Around mile 8 I felt done.  This is normal for me, and luckily, GU was provided at this point - and I took advantage of it.  The next stretch was through the NC State University campus, which was gorgeous.  Following this scenic section was an amazing charity organization that had lined a significant stretch of the race with individual photos of soldiers who had died while serving our country.  I ran next to the photos and made it a point to read each and every name.  Following the photos was another long stretch of volunteers, wearing blue shirts (wear blue to remember), holding full size flags.  Again, I made it a point to thank each volunteer.  It was touching tribute, and I wanted to be sure to acknowledge their support.

Coming out of this part, I knew I was heading towards the end.  Up a significant hill and. . .then another. . .and of course, another. . .Where was the end?

Finally, the end in sight, I sprinted (yes, sprinted) to the finish.  It felt great to be done, and overall, I would say it was a great race.  I felt much better than I had anticipated, and didn't feel like passing out at the end - bonus!

There was great volunteer and spectator support along the course, and of course being a Rock n Roll race, there were some great bands and music.  One of my favorite signs:

I also made it to the Finish Line celebration in time to hear the headliner band, New Politics, play Harlem, the only song I know by them, but enjoy.

Later, after returning back home, I learned that two runners had passed away on the half course.  One of them, I had seen - this was truly upsetting, and also a bit unnerving.  I had found, during the run, when I struggled mentally to get through the hills or discomforts, that I would think of Boston Strong.  The one year anniversary was upon us, and I know a few people who are running Boston Marathon next week - so these thoughts helped to carry me through.  #WeWillRun

So, as people asked how my race went, I was unsure how to answer - I wanted to say, "Great!", but yet my heart feels guilty and my mind heavy with sad thoughts because of the two runners who passed. My thoughts are with their families.

Interestingly, another one of my favorite signs during the race, that I had found motivating was,

"One day, you won't be able to do this.  Today is not that day."

But, who really knows?

Life's Not Fair!

Just in case you were wondering -
If your nine-year-old says, "I'm really pissed off," to his teacher and school administrator, it's not a good thing.  You know, in case you weren't sure.  I kind of figured that would be a No-No, but it got clarified for me this past week.

My eldest son had a difficult week - ALL last week.
On Monday, when I saw his teachers, they mentioned that he was "off" and not cooperative or polite.  So, since he has had a phenomenal past several months, I said, "Well, we all have an off day now and then."

 I told this same thing to my son, and mentioned that,
"Tomorrow is a new day, and we can be positive."

On Tuesday, as I was walking down the hallway, I got to witness my eldest throwing himself on the floor, throwing a notebook, and screaming and crying.  Isn't this what all parents hope to see when walking in their child's school?  I had a moment of thinking, "Can I quickly back out of the hallway unnoticed?  Or have I been ----" Too late.  I was seen.

My child was melting down in a way we have not seen in a long time.  It turns out that the teacher expectations for him were changed this week - he has been doing so well, we raised the bar.   Guess what? He was not okay with the change.  We sat him down and had a talk with him, went over expectations, and he seemed all right with the world again.

Remember, "Tomorrow is a new day."

Wednesday was good.  We had it all under control again.  Back on track!  (note to self:  never think it's "all okay" and we are "back on track").

Thursday, while helping another teacher clean.. .poop off the boys' bathroom floor (and some of you think teachers get paid enough?!?), my son's teacher spotted me and said, "Oh thank goodness you are here!  Do you have a minute?"
Hmmm, clean up poop off the floor, or get what can only be a negative report about my eldest son?  It was a tough call.

Meeting with teacher:  Well, your son was having a great day!  Then, when the entire class got in trouble for talking too much, he lost it.   When we tried to talk with him and calm him down, I (the teacher) was telling him, "No, this is just how it's going to be."  To which, my nine-year-old pointed his finger right back at the teacher and replied, "No, I'm telling you. . ."
Now the school administrator is called in to help.
This only causes him to escalate.  As the adults are trying to explain their reasoning to him, he is getting more and more angry, at which point he tells them all, "I am really pissed off!"

So, my son got to spend the rest of the day up in the office with the administrator.
At least I got out of cleaning up the poop.

By Friday, I was seriously contemplating purchasing some of those fake glasses with the big nose and mustache attached, so that when I showed up for dismissal, perhaps I could get through unrecognized and no one would come tell me any more "issues" about my child?

Turns out, Friday was fine.  Thank goodness, because I'm not sure either one of us could have handled another rough day.

All throughout the week my son kept saying, "Life's not fair!," and "I can't wait until I'm the grown-up, and no one tells me what to do!".  I get that he's feeling like his life is controlled by the adults around him - to an extent it is - he's a kid.  However, I struggle with the "Life's Not Fair" view, because there are children in our world who really, really do have an unfair life.  I don't want to traumatize my child by comparing his unhappiness with losing his electronics time with a child who lives in a crime-ridden, drug-infested neighborhood who fears getting shot in the crossfire of bullets, and hasn't eaten anything in a few days because there is no money for food. . .but. . .that child does exist, and that child's life is unfair.

I need for my son to learn to control his anger.  He must be careful with his words.  He needs to learn compassion and empathy for the those less fortunate, and appreciate what he has, which is a lot.  I feel like my husband and I try to impart these lessons on our children.  I feel like we read, watch the news, have conversations, and model these qualities.  As with everything else in parenting, a lot seems to come down to repetition.  We must go over these lessons over and over, and over and over again.  One of these days, hopefully they will "get it."

In an effort to help my kids understand the power of their words, I did a little teacher lesson I read about a while ago.  It had to do with bullying, but I think still applies to be cognizant of one's words.  After destroying their paper, and finding it terribly funny to do so - they seemed to sober up when they realized they couldn't un-do the damage they had done to the paper.  We talked about how it relates to using words, and that you can say "sorry", but it doesn't un-do what was said - or done.  We can only try to do better next time, to limit causing more damage.

I think they understood the point of the lesson, and remember,
Tomorrow is a new day.

Rockin' Run

I feel like I ran a marathon.

The paint of the baton came off on our sweaty hands.

In actuality, I only ran 13.1 - of a marathon relay.

This weekend was the Rockin' Marathon Relay.  Several months ago, I recruited a few mommy-running friends, and we registered as a team of four for the marathon relay.  Starting about a month ago, the mommy runners started backing out.  There were various reasons, all doing with - life.  It happens.  The last mommy runner backed out this past Monday - the week of the race.

I freaked out.  I knew I could run 13.1 of the race. . .maybe, maybe 15?  But not the entire 26.2.  I had not been training, and I really didn't even want to run the entire race - alone.  I asked a few friends.  It was too last minute, and no one could help.  One of the mommy-runners posted on Facebook asking if anyone was interested.  No one jumped at the opportunity.

Finally, on Wednesday - in a panic I asked a fellow teacher.  She is a runner.  She is a very good runner actually.  However, I know her weekends are usually quite busy, so I had not initially asked her.  I was desperate now.  I was in begging mode - so I went, fully prepared to open up a can of full blown begging, tears, if necessary.

She readily agreed!

Science Teacher and myself set up camp at the race.  It was a relay race, and we agreed in advance to divide the distance in half, and as each lap of the loop was 1.31 miles, we agreed to run two loops before passing the baton off.  Science Teacher ran first.

We both admitted that it took our first two laps for our feet to warm up enough that our toes weren't numb.  Luckily, the weather steadily warmed up - and it turned into a beautiful day.

By miles 6-7 my hamstrings were killing me.  "What's wrong with me?" I yelled at Science Teacher during one point in my loop, "I normally run 8 miles, no problem."
She said it was the killer hills and the gravel that was causing us problems.  I. Hurt.  And I still had another 6 miles to go. . .

Wonderful, amazing Science Teacher - who ended up running 14.5 in this relay, and is running another 5 mile race tonight.

There were a lot of hills in that 1.3 mile loop.  One of the hills rivaled Patrick Johnston Lane hill in Davidson - you locals know what I am talking about. . .that hill is the dread of many a runner locally.  So, we had a Patrick-Johnston wannabe hill on our loop, and two mini Patrick Johnstons toward the end of the loop.

Ten laps.  Ten times up those hills.

My legs hurt.
By my last two laps I felt like I could barely pick up my feet to clear the rocks and sticks on the gravel trail.  I honestly felt like I'd run the full marathon.

I thought this run would be a lot easier because I was splitting it with a friend.  She would run two laps, and then I would run two laps.  Which meant - I had a break, while she was running.  I was too afraid to sit during my "breaks" because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get back up.  I did use the breaks as an opportunity to run to a different point on the course to cheer on Science Teacher (and she did the same for me), and to use the restroom, and eat fig newtons.  I have not eaten fig newtons in years, but they were on the snack table, and they were yummy.

As I approached the start/finish line for my final lap, Science Teacher yelled, "One more lap, you can do it."  Since I was breathing so hard I couldn't speak, I just motioned for her to join me (misery loves company, right?  Right!).  What did she do?  She joined me!  Science Teacher - who had already run her 13.1 - ran the final 1.3 miles with me, and we finished together, in under 4 hours.


We got a fun record medal for finishing.

When I first registered, I was supposed to run with 3 other women - so 8 feet running the race - we were "Gr8ful Soles" - which was the name on the back of our shirt.  Pretty cool.

We rocked the Rockin' Marathon Relay.
We earned our First Place Gold Record Award.

Who cares that we were the ONLY two women team, and therefore 1st place no matter what?