Tag: Me Myself & I

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The races are over!

Last Saturday was my final race of this running season, the Brewers Mini-Marathon and 10k. Thank heavens I chose correctly for once and did the 10k, because there’s no way I could have done another half marathon.

It started and ended at Miller Park, and the course was surprisingly much harder than I anticipated. Since when does Milwaukee, and specifically the Miller Valley, have hills? There were spots where I honestly thought I was going to have to walk or just give up the race all together.

But I pushed on, just slowing down when I felt the urge to stop. I refused to look at either the mile marker signs or my watch, because I didn’t want to know how much misery I had left. Somewhere in the last mile I actually grabbed a cup at the water station to rinse out my mouth, and of course it was Gatorade, not water. Talk about a terrible surprise! I about choked on it, which only added to the full-body pain I was feeling by that time.

I have no idea why that run was so hard, either. 6.2 miles is not a long distance for me anymore, especially after the 12-mile training runs I had to do earlier this spring. I don’t know if it’s the additional 4 miles I walk daily taking Della to and from school now or what. But from somewhere in the very first mile until the end, every single step was a nightmare.

The only time my spirits lifted was when we ran around the warning track inside the stadium. There were 2 reasons for this – I saw friends cheering for me who I had no idea were going to be in there (in all fairness they were there cheering for someone else, but they rooted me on as i ran by. still felt good to hear my name, though), and I knew those ending flags were almost in sight.

After practically limping across the finish line, I finally checked my watch. And I about fainted.

From shock, not pain.

49:33! (my official time ended up being 49:32)

I absolutely could not believe it. I had kind of a tiered goal time going into this race – I definitely wanted to break 54:00, which would be roughly 9:00/mile pace; I really, really wanted to break 52:00; and in my deepest heart of hearts I would be ecstatic to break 50:00.

So to see 49-anything as my finishing time just blew me away. I killed it.

I was so happy! And I was done! And I needed to get some water immediately before I died! And I needed to keep walking so my distressed legs didn’t completely cramp up on me and render me a giant heap in the finishers’ chute! And I needed to get to the beer tent!

I ran this race with a group of friends, and that part was so much fun. Actually having others to watch for, cheer on, and meet up with was a blast. All the racers got a couple free Miller Lites afterwards, and I said that beer has never tasted so good.

Thankfully I was smart enough to bring a full change of clothes this time, so I was able to enjoy my beverages relatively sweat free. The forecast that morning had called for rain and thunderstorms, so I was anticipating being totally drenched with water, not just sweat. Either way, the spare clothes I had in my gear bag added to my post-race glee.

So, my friends, my D&L stroller training team paid off in spades this summer. I was beyond thrilled with all 3 of my race times, and all for varying distances, too, which was a first for me – a 23:00 5k, a 1:57 half marathon, and a 49:00 10k. Success!

Now I can just kick back and run for pure enjoyment and exercise. I took this whole week off from running, and it felt wonderful. Like I said, I walk so much now to school and back twice, I almost feel like that’s enough. But I should definitely get a little more pavement pounding in before the frigid air traps me inside this winter. At least I can just stick to my preferred 5k route now, not worrying about getting any specific distances in.

And here is what it looks like to happily close out a very productive running season:

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An answer, but still questions

I’ve finally figured out what’s been making me so ill at ease about this whole school thing with Della. It’s not the school or the teachers or the kids or their parents or the logistics or any of that.

It’s 100% me.

For pretty much as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt different than everyone else. And I’ve never known why. Still to this day, I have no idea what causes these feelings.

I don’t know if it was growing up with such a weird name (if anyone can tell me how to pronounce Picl, i’ll give you a hug), always being so much younger than the rest of my classmates (i would have been young for my grade with a may birthday anyway, but then i skipped a grade on top of that), always being a “smart kid” (though my friends were always smart and got good grades, too, so that was definitely not unique to me), or what, but I always felt like there was just something weird about me. I was different somehow.

In my mind, anyway.

No one ever bullied me or told me they didn’t like me or I couldn’t join them or they wanted me to go away, but I always felt like I didn’t quite fit in. Like I was always kind of the odd girl out. Like just a little bit I didn’t belong. Like people were always talking about me or somehow making fun of me.

I was never really the one everyone asked to do stuff with or be in their group or come to their party or go with them wherever, but I certainly wasn’t shunned either. I was much more of a homebody anyway, preferring to stay home with my family on the weekends instead of being at every party thrown around school, so that actually suited me just fine.

I always had good groups of friends growing up, too, so that even confounds me more as to from where these feelings stem. I don’t think I ever didn’t fit in, that’s the strange part. At least no one blatantly told me I didn’t, anyway.

I still kind of get a surge of this same feeling today, especially in new group situations. I’m a pretty shy person until I know you, then you usually can’t get me to shut up, so if I’m in a group setting where I know no one, I tend to be by myself, a little removed, waiting for an invitation in. It’s much less so than when I was a kid, but I can still feel it a little sometimes.

And it is exactly this that I never want our daughters to experience. I’m sure every kid is shy sometimes and may take a little while to warm up to new faces and places, but I never want them feeling left out or weird or different in a bad way. Because they aren’t.

They are the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing people I know, and it makes my heart ache just thinking that they might feel these same emotions of mine someday. So I really hope they never do. I want them to love being in school with new friends and doing new things and learning new lessons and ideas.

Unfortunately, being clueless as to what causes this in me, I’m not sure how to prevent it from churning in them as well. But I’m hell-bent on doing my best.

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Early onset empty nest syndrome

Della starts school in just a couple weeks, and I won’t lie – I think it’s giving me major anxiety. Yes, it’s only K4, and yes, it will only be 3 hours a day in the mornings, but still. I don’t want her to be gone!

It’s so strange picturing my days here without her. What are Lana and I going to do all morning? Della is my resident babysitter for Lana when I need to get stuff done, whether it be work, cleaning, or just general stuff that doesn’t involve direct interaction with one of my children. Honestly, I can’t picture the days without her. I have a feeling it’ll take actually having her gone those hours before I can wrap my head around it.

I know she’ll be fine, and I’m sure she’ll thrive, knowing that incredible little mind and spirit of hers. Thankfully, our school district is one of the better ones in the state, so I’m not worried there either. It’s all me.

I’m going to miss her, though. She’s my first child, and I never even thought about the fact that her school days would be here so soon. 4 years? That’s all I get with her like this? 4 years?? I feel like we have so many more days we need to play and have no schedule and just be here together. But, sadly, they are quickly running out.

The notion of now being part of a school system for the next 20+ years is a little unsettling, too. Supplies and teachers and new kids and lunchrooms and that smell. Don’t all schools smell the same, or is that just me, too? I’m definitely not looking forward to like 700 new kids and their parents. What if I can’t stand all the parents of Della’s new classmates and then we’re stuck with them for 12 more years? Ugh. Or what if they feel that way about us? Ugh more.

I guess my memories of school days are not all sunshine and rainbows, and maybe that’s why I’m dreading this new chapter so much right now. Not that school was bad for me, I just don’t look back and think wow, those were the absolute best times of my life. I was so ready to be done with school and out of Peoria by the time I graduated high school, that that’s pretty much the main feeling about school that I remember. Sure I can tell you all about my elementary and middle schools, but overall, I just wanted to be done.

So I really hope Della enjoys her school days much more than I remember doing and doesn’t necessarily want to bolt out of here as soon as she can. Because I want her to always want to stay. Which is ridiculously selfish, because of course she won’t want to. But hopefully at least she’ll always want to come back.

I just don’t like this feeling that my baby girl is going to be in this giant sea of other students pretty soon, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want her to go, but I know she can’t stay here forever. And as much as I’d love to keep her here, I don’t think there’s any way I’m cut out for homeschooling. What, you don’t want to do your homework today? Ok cool, neither do I. Let’s go outside. Yeah, I don’t think they’d get very far with my classroom curriculum.

Is there any cure for this knot I get in the heart of my soul every time I think of her tiny little self walking through those huge, looming school doors? Or will it only be cured with time and seeing that it’s really not so scary (i hope) and watching her grow?

We did take a practice walk to the school today and played on the playground, so I could get a feel of how early our morning routines will have to start come September. It’s not too bad, but I’m sure I won’t be able to take them in the double stroller. Even in K4, who wants their mom to walk them to school in a stroller? Am I right, or am I way overthinking this? I just assumed being dropped off from a stroller would be a little too babyish. So I’ll probably push Lana in the single stroller and Della will just walk with me. Fortunately the playground there is awesome, so I know she was really excited about exploring that and climbing all the new monkey bars.

I simply can’t believe (nor do i want to believe) that this beautiful little piece of my heart is not going to be mine for parts of the days anymore. Somebody better send me 18 boxes of Kleenex for that first day, because I’m sure I’ll be a mess.

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Oh, my legs

This past Saturday I ran my first half marathon. And my last.

I’d been toying with the idea of trying one for a couple years, but I’ve never had the time to dedicate to training for one until now. So a few months ago I signed up and started running.

And running and running and running.

I did almost all of my runs with the girls in the stroller, which I think really helped. It toned my arms, anyway. I didn’t follow any set training program, I just kind of made up my own – 1 long, 1 medium, and 1 short run per week.

People kept asking what my goal time was, and I was like, dudes, I never run this far. I just want to finish the thing. Double digit running isn’t quite my specialty. Or that enjoyable.

I finally got a secret goal time in my head of 1:57, because that was right about 9-minute-mile pace, something I never thought would be possible for me for 13.1 miles. I did my long runs with the full stroller at around a 10-minute-mile pace, so 9 minute miles sounded way faster than what I could do. But that was the number that kept popping into my head anyway.

So Saturday morning I got up with the birds, filled up my Camelbak, put my headphones on, lined up in Corral J, and took off with the herd. The first 8ish miles felt pretty good, and I could honestly tell that I was pushing myself harder than normal.

Then we went down a huge hill and started heading toward the finish area, which I thought would be a good thing, but miles 9 and 10 were miserable. I truly felt that I wasn’t going to make it to the end, then that made me mad because I thought oh great, I wasted all that time training for this and now I’m not even going to finish without walking.

But I never walked, and miles 11 to the end actually felt much better. I just started making myself go as fast as I could, because I knew I’d never be doing this again. I literally had the phrase “I never have to do this again!” running through my head, forcing me to sprint to the end.

So, how did my final time compare to that goal time that I thought was completely unattainable?

1:57:12

Boom.

Nailed it.

And now I never have to run that far ever again. Whew.

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my training partners extraordinaire. we’ll keep running together for sure, just not for hours at a time, thankfully.

 

 

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Thirty-five

I turn 35 years old today, and here is how I feel about that:

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(my hair is wet, fresh from a shower, not greasy, i swear)

I am definitely not excited about being halfway through my 30s, and I certainly don’t enjoy saying I’m in my mid-30s. This whole aging thing can suck it. Blech.

However, I do love my life right now, and I’m still carrying that good feeling I had about 2014 this far into the year, so maybe 35 isn’t going to be so bad after all? Or maybe I’m just telling myself that to stave off the depression of getting older?

But either way, Happy Birthday to me!

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For a fun little comparison, here is me at 25. Not the best picture, but the only decent one from my birthday that year. Think I’ve aged well? If not, well then just keep that little gem to yourself…

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My year may have already been made

A few days ago, one of the guys with whom I work at the gym unknowingly handed me what may be the highest compliment a parent can ever receive. It came during a perfectly normal, mid-towel-folding conversation, but it really just made my heart so happy.

We were chatting while folding the never-ending mountains of towels, and he asked, “So what made you want to be a Mom?” (i write Mom with a capital M, because that’s just how the question looked in my head when he asked it) I kind of chuckled, thought a second, and then responded, “Well, actually I never really did.”

He looked pretty shocked to hear that answer until I further explained myself…

As most of you know, growing up I was never a girl who dreamed of the day she would become a mother. I was never really drawn to babies like some people are, I usually preferred to have other people’s kids stay with those people, and I was generally pretty selfish with my time and efforts, not really wanting to share my life with a tiny human. To me, kids were just a lot of work, they were loud and cranky, and they always got things dirty. None of which I really wanted a part.

That’s not to say I was ever against having children, I just never gave it much thought. I always assumed I’d have kids someday, but it was never a big gold star on my calendar.

When Ryan and I got married I knew he wanted children, and like I said I figured we’d have them eventually, but they were not on the near horizon. We had a blast in our 20s without the responsibilities of kids, and I enjoyed those years immensely.

As my 30th birthday approached, however, the notion that it may be time to start thinking a little more seriously about building the next generation began to creep into my brain. I knew getting older is generally not conducive to having babies, so that seemed like a good point in time to start planning our family.

Della was born when I was 31, and my view on children changed immediately and completely. It was the most amazingly wonderful feeling I had ever known, I thought my heart was going to burst with the new love and happiness we had created, and I instantly wanted more babies. That sentiment made us both laugh (me and the Ryan at the gym to whom i was talking, not my Ryan), because it sounds very weird to hear me say that almost the second I gave birth for the first time I was already looking forward to doing it all again. But I was. Maternal hormones are crazy things.

And I’ve loved being a Mom ever since. I even like other people’s kids now, too, *gasp!*.

Now here’s where the compliment came. When I finished relaying the tale of my journey to Motherhood, I asked him why he had asked. He said, “Well, you just always seem to have such a good handle on it all when I see you with your kids.”

I internally burst out laughing, thinking he must never notice me straggling through the doors of the gym with these 2 little girls dripping off me – my purse, the diaper bag, their insulated lunch bag, and Lana on my left arm and Della in my right hand, rushing to get everyone in the door before we all fall apart because I now always seem to be running late. Or maybe I really do look ok from the outside, when inside I’m trying to hold us all together with my brainwaves so we can JUST GET THERE ON TIME!

Either way, I was beyond flattered and actually speechless, so I just stuttered a very humble, “Really? Wow, thank you so much.”

I doubt he’ll ever know how much his saying those innocent enough words meant, but I will be forever grateful he did.

 

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Well…maybe not

So, try as I might, I’m afraid I will fail completely in getting any 2013 recap posts up here before 2014 is rung in. So sorry.

I do, however, have a number of those posts to share, so hopefully I’ll find the time before 2015 rolls around. But in the meantime, I do hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, whichever holiday it is that you do (or don’t) celebrate.

Here’s 1 final parting shot from our family to you as we count down the days until 2014. May it bring us all nothing but the best. Happy New Year!!

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