The day of Mom L’s move was riddled with stress. No, I wasn’t surprised, but having never dealt with movers before, I never would have guessed how hectic it would get.
Strike one – the movers were three hours late, so they sent four guys instead of three. Sounds like a nice thing, but for the first hour only two people did any work – strike two. Thanks to our organization of the boxes and furniture, the truck was packed in under three hours and we were on our less-than-merry way.
When they arrived at our home, the four guys did work and it was chaotic. Too many people, going through too many doors with too many boxes – ugh. I think we were all thankful for them to leave, despite the damage they did to two of our walls and the upholstery on a chair – strike three.
The result, though, was chaos in our house – and Mom L’s realization that she had a lot of stuff. At one point she, standing at the top of the stairs, called down to me and said, “There aren’t many more boxes, are there?” Sadly there were.
After all was said and done, she seemed a little embarrassed at all of the stuff she had brought. Mike and I helped her get her room in some semblance of order so she could go to bed. Tomorrow would be another day and I was off all week to help her organize.
Whew.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
A Life in a Box: When to Let Go
In all of our basements, attics, spare closets, etc. we gather lifetime of stuff, much of which we never use or look at for decades. In them are pieces of our history that we don’t want to let go because they spark a specific memory of a person, place or event. Such is the case for Mom L.
At the start of this adventure, the three of use gathered in her basement to go through all of the boxes that had been there since her last move five years ago. And we learned that much of it had been there from two or three moves prior.
An organized chaos of sorts, we set out to determine the contents of every box and determine its fate. Legal pad, pen and sharper marker in hand, we numbered each box and noted the contents. The four piles were simple (sort of): 1. Stuff definitely coming with us; 2. Stuff that needs to be looked through; 3. Stuff for the grandkids; and 4. Stuff for goodwill.
Pile one grew quickly, but – to my shock – there was so many boxes that we would need to look through before taking. Twenty seven boxes of papers, folders, old bills, etc. – Mom L.’s lifetime in a box.
It’s amazing what you can learn about person by the things she saved. As I sorted through the yellowed newspaper recipes and advice columns, I was saddened by the reality that she would never cook these recipes for the family she built. They represented a time when a young woman was learning how to be wife and a mother, simply looking for a way to navigate the new waters. I wondered if she remembered what “Dear Abby” said in 1970 and if it was really my decision to say she didn’t need that bit of advice.
Peeking into someone’s life can be exhausting. I was quickly overcome with emotions; Mike less so. (I’m learning that men have an ability to turn off their emotions – at least externally – when the need arises.) I kept thinking, “Who am I to say she won’t ever need the recipe of for that specific chicken casserole?” even though I knew she hadn’t cooked anything like it in the eight years Mike and I have been together. Still, it was tough.
Because her eyes are bad, she was unable to look through much of the boxes and relied on Mike and my judgment. We took out every UKrups recipe we could find, as that name stuck in her head as having a specific dish she wanted to make. (I doubt she will ever look at them, and then feel bad for thinking that way.)
An outline of her life starts to unfold as we pilfer through her stuff, and she fills in the details. I’m now convinced that she does remember what “Dear Abby” advised her in 1970, and wonder if I should take note.
At the start of this adventure, the three of use gathered in her basement to go through all of the boxes that had been there since her last move five years ago. And we learned that much of it had been there from two or three moves prior.
An organized chaos of sorts, we set out to determine the contents of every box and determine its fate. Legal pad, pen and sharper marker in hand, we numbered each box and noted the contents. The four piles were simple (sort of): 1. Stuff definitely coming with us; 2. Stuff that needs to be looked through; 3. Stuff for the grandkids; and 4. Stuff for goodwill.
Pile one grew quickly, but – to my shock – there was so many boxes that we would need to look through before taking. Twenty seven boxes of papers, folders, old bills, etc. – Mom L.’s lifetime in a box.
It’s amazing what you can learn about person by the things she saved. As I sorted through the yellowed newspaper recipes and advice columns, I was saddened by the reality that she would never cook these recipes for the family she built. They represented a time when a young woman was learning how to be wife and a mother, simply looking for a way to navigate the new waters. I wondered if she remembered what “Dear Abby” said in 1970 and if it was really my decision to say she didn’t need that bit of advice.
Peeking into someone’s life can be exhausting. I was quickly overcome with emotions; Mike less so. (I’m learning that men have an ability to turn off their emotions – at least externally – when the need arises.) I kept thinking, “Who am I to say she won’t ever need the recipe of for that specific chicken casserole?” even though I knew she hadn’t cooked anything like it in the eight years Mike and I have been together. Still, it was tough.
Because her eyes are bad, she was unable to look through much of the boxes and relied on Mike and my judgment. We took out every UKrups recipe we could find, as that name stuck in her head as having a specific dish she wanted to make. (I doubt she will ever look at them, and then feel bad for thinking that way.)
An outline of her life starts to unfold as we pilfer through her stuff, and she fills in the details. I’m now convinced that she does remember what “Dear Abby” advised her in 1970, and wonder if I should take note.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Back Story: We Convinced Mom L. to Move In
While it might seem odd to some, I’m actually excited to have my mother-in-law move in with us. Less than a year after Mike and I got engaged, he’s dad died of cancer. It was devastating on so many fronts. Mike and I were clearly aligned on the fact that we would take care of his mom. (This was 2004.)
After living in her house for a year after Mike’s father’s death, Mom L. moved into Mike’s brother’s house and his brother moved in with his fiancé. It was an easy way to get her out of far away Maryland, where the closest relative was an hour away. It seemed that everyone knew it was a temporary fix – except Mom L. She was content living alone and enjoying the freedom of her days. (This was 2005)
Little-by-little her sight grew worse. She suffers from Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD) and has for many years. About a year after she moved into her new home, she made the decision to get rid of her car, since she hadn’t drove it. Now as anyone who has lived in the suburbs knows, you can’t get anywhere without a car. Thankfully the extended family nearby stepped to drive her food shopping, on errands and to the doctor. (This was 2006)
When Mike and I decided to move out of our fabulous one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, we first looked at larger apartments in within the city to accommodate our growing possessions and a home business. Mike really wanted to own something – and if you know him, you understand why a co-op wasn’t an option. (The similarity between the word co-op and coop should not be overlooked here.) So a house it was.
We initially looked for two family homes with the thought that Mom L. would move in and have her own space. The best laid plans, I guess. The neighborhood we picked dictated that a two-family house wasn’t in our immediate future. But we found a large four-bedroom home that would more than accommodate our needs – and a mom-in-law. (This was 2007)
From the day we moved, we made it clear that she could come at any point. She wanted no part of it. She nicely said, “You guys are newlyweds in your first home, why do you want your mother-in-law there?” I love her for saying that, but knew it was only a matter of time.
When Mike fell ill last year, Mom L. came to live with us for an extended period of time. First a week, then two weeks. It was something of a trial period, I guess. I think we all realized that if we could co-exist during such trying times, we probably wouldn’t have much trouble on a full-time basis. (This was 2009.)
Earlier this year, Mom L.’s eye doctor told her she probably shouldn’t be living alone. After much deliberation, she agreed to move in with Mike and me. Welcome to 2010!
This has, to some extent, turned all of our worlds upside-down – in a good way. As we anxiously prepare for her move, there are a ton of emotions and issues that keep arising. So I figured I’d share them with the crowd in the hopes of helping out anyone else who maybe in a similar situation. And, hopefully, you’ll enjoy a little bit of a laugh along the way.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – whenever Mike, Mom L. and I are together, we always find ourselves hysterically laughing about something. This is going to fun!
After living in her house for a year after Mike’s father’s death, Mom L. moved into Mike’s brother’s house and his brother moved in with his fiancé. It was an easy way to get her out of far away Maryland, where the closest relative was an hour away. It seemed that everyone knew it was a temporary fix – except Mom L. She was content living alone and enjoying the freedom of her days. (This was 2005)
Little-by-little her sight grew worse. She suffers from Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD) and has for many years. About a year after she moved into her new home, she made the decision to get rid of her car, since she hadn’t drove it. Now as anyone who has lived in the suburbs knows, you can’t get anywhere without a car. Thankfully the extended family nearby stepped to drive her food shopping, on errands and to the doctor. (This was 2006)
When Mike and I decided to move out of our fabulous one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, we first looked at larger apartments in within the city to accommodate our growing possessions and a home business. Mike really wanted to own something – and if you know him, you understand why a co-op wasn’t an option. (The similarity between the word co-op and coop should not be overlooked here.) So a house it was.
We initially looked for two family homes with the thought that Mom L. would move in and have her own space. The best laid plans, I guess. The neighborhood we picked dictated that a two-family house wasn’t in our immediate future. But we found a large four-bedroom home that would more than accommodate our needs – and a mom-in-law. (This was 2007)
From the day we moved, we made it clear that she could come at any point. She wanted no part of it. She nicely said, “You guys are newlyweds in your first home, why do you want your mother-in-law there?” I love her for saying that, but knew it was only a matter of time.
When Mike fell ill last year, Mom L. came to live with us for an extended period of time. First a week, then two weeks. It was something of a trial period, I guess. I think we all realized that if we could co-exist during such trying times, we probably wouldn’t have much trouble on a full-time basis. (This was 2009.)
Earlier this year, Mom L.’s eye doctor told her she probably shouldn’t be living alone. After much deliberation, she agreed to move in with Mike and me. Welcome to 2010!
This has, to some extent, turned all of our worlds upside-down – in a good way. As we anxiously prepare for her move, there are a ton of emotions and issues that keep arising. So I figured I’d share them with the crowd in the hopes of helping out anyone else who maybe in a similar situation. And, hopefully, you’ll enjoy a little bit of a laugh along the way.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – whenever Mike, Mom L. and I are together, we always find ourselves hysterically laughing about something. This is going to fun!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
When Health Becomes the Sickness
The marriage vows go something like this: “...in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy…”
Simple right?
Good and bad – black and white – happiness and sadness.
Not so fast.
When Mike, fell sick at the beginning of this year, I was challenged in many ways. It was time to step up and care for him through the sickness that was spoken about three and a half years earlier. I could do that – I am a very caring person (maybe too much) and had a great model in my mother of someone who dropped everything when a person she loved was in need.
The sickness dragged longer than anticipated, but Mike and I worked through it. My patience was definitely tested – as was his. On April 10th, our fourth wedding anniversary, the tube was removed from his arm and we were excited to be moving beyond this crisis stronger and closer than ever. The challenges of 2009 were behind us.
The best laid plans, perhaps.
While sick, Mike, an avid runner who has completed multiple marathons, saw an ad for The North Face Endurance Challenge – a 50-mile trail run in Virginia. He set his sights on this goal and never looked back. He was going to train to run 50 miles from literally zero. It’s all chronicled on his blog aptly named 0-50.
Though nervous about this endeavor coming so close on the heels of his sickness, I supported him knowing it would give him something positive to focus on after months of pain and suffering. I had no doubt that he would be able to complete this task, yet I was still worried that it was too much too soon.
In the midst of all the training, Mike asked if I would pace him for the last 15 miles of the race. I hesitated because I am a much slower runner and I had never run that far before – 13.1 was my max. I even tried to get others to help out, but it just didn’t work out. So I, too, trained to run with him for the last leg of his endeavor.
Fast forward five months: The race quickly approached. We were as prepared as we could be to run and had a great support team in place. The day before the race we scoped out the aid station where Liz, Alex and I would set up to see Mike at four different points throughout the race. It was also where I would join him for the last 15 miles.
Bad idea.
The terrain was more difficult than what we trained on and I began to get a little nervous about the day to come. Mike and I both must have been thinking similar thoughts because neither one of us was able to sleep the night before. I think the max amount of sleep either one of us got was two hours.
And they’re off.
The race began with a beautiful light show as the head-lamped runners trotted along in the dark. It looked like pixies or fireflies had taken over the park. When the pixies left, Liz, Alex and I headed to our support destination. Settled and cold, we waited in the dark for the runners to appear. An hour or so after sunrise, Mike appeared (after many false alarms of other runners wearing red shirts – go figure). He looked OK – tired, but OK.
After a quick refuel he started loop one – the first of three on tortuous terrain. Before Mike returned, a couple of runners appeared with bloody/bruised legs from falling – one even had his face scraped up from a fall. A helicopter also appeared to be landing in aid of someone. I looked closely at the EMT guys in front of us to see if any news was coming through the radio – nothing, whew.
Mike appeared after loop one still looking OK – tired and a little shocked at how hard the terrain really was – and without visible scars. He fueled up again and was off. The next two loops were about the same, except Mike had then befriended a Marine who was running with him. I turned to Alex at one point and noted how a Marine is probably the best person you can befriend on a run like this – they don’t leave people behind.
My turn.
After Mike left for loop three, I began to anticipate and prepare for my entry into this race. I was nervous, but optimistic about being able to get him, and now Chris (the Marine) through the remainder of the race. They returned from loop three, Mike changed shoes, fueled up some more and we were off.
We got no more than 100 feet and I tripped on a rock and fell – great job pacer! I jumped up wiped off my scratches and moved along. A mile later – boom – another fall – bad pacer! This one knocked me a bit and got a little dizzy getting up. No worries, I was determined to get these guys across the finish line.
As we continued, we picked up another runner, Michelle, who was also struggling to finish. I was feeling pretty fresh and so tried my best to get the morale of the group up. The arduous terrain and the 50-milers’understanding of what to come next proved to be a challenge. They knew the course from the morning and were anxiously anticipating the next mountain they had to climb and river they had to run over – literally, we were walking over tree branches to cross streams.
At one point in the first 6.2 miles of my pacing, I was at the head of the pack and looked back to Mike, who was struggling behind. He was hurting – he was having a really hard time and I could see it. I knew there was no turning back, so I trekked forward in the hopes we were nearing the first aid station of my portion of the race. After a challenging hike up a hill, I looked back again.
My heart sank.
Mike looked sick – his face was gaunt and tired – he had dark circles under his eyes, which looked out completely of it. I slowed down and went beside him to keep pace with him. The truth was there wasn’t anything I could do for him at that point, but I just wanted to stay with him. Thankfully the aid station was close by.
We refueled and Mike told the Michelle and Chris to go ahead. They had both drank some Mountain Dew and so were much peppier than Mike. Chris, of course, said no – “Mike and I are crossing that finish line together.” I was happy we met the Marine – it was exactly what Mike needed.
We trekked on with our partners in crime ahead of us, but always stopping to allow us time to catch up. Mike was totally beat at this point, but I knew he would finish. There were a few more hills to climb and then an aid station. Again the doubt of the 50-milers set in. “Focus on the aid station,” I said. “We have two hills, a valley and then the aid station.”
It worked.
We got to the next aid station and were 5.6 miles away from the finish. There was no way we weren’t going to make it on time. The excitement got the better of us and we completed the next three miles in less than 30 minutes. (Trust me that’s fast for people who ran 45 miles before that point.) Only 1.6 miles to go and we were home free. We power-walked much of the remaining distance. At about 100 yards, we started to run. I took a step back and let the three 50-milers cross the finish line at the same time.
Success.
Simple right?
Good and bad – black and white – happiness and sadness.
Not so fast.
When Mike, fell sick at the beginning of this year, I was challenged in many ways. It was time to step up and care for him through the sickness that was spoken about three and a half years earlier. I could do that – I am a very caring person (maybe too much) and had a great model in my mother of someone who dropped everything when a person she loved was in need.
The sickness dragged longer than anticipated, but Mike and I worked through it. My patience was definitely tested – as was his. On April 10th, our fourth wedding anniversary, the tube was removed from his arm and we were excited to be moving beyond this crisis stronger and closer than ever. The challenges of 2009 were behind us.
The best laid plans, perhaps.
While sick, Mike, an avid runner who has completed multiple marathons, saw an ad for The North Face Endurance Challenge – a 50-mile trail run in Virginia. He set his sights on this goal and never looked back. He was going to train to run 50 miles from literally zero. It’s all chronicled on his blog aptly named 0-50.
Though nervous about this endeavor coming so close on the heels of his sickness, I supported him knowing it would give him something positive to focus on after months of pain and suffering. I had no doubt that he would be able to complete this task, yet I was still worried that it was too much too soon.
In the midst of all the training, Mike asked if I would pace him for the last 15 miles of the race. I hesitated because I am a much slower runner and I had never run that far before – 13.1 was my max. I even tried to get others to help out, but it just didn’t work out. So I, too, trained to run with him for the last leg of his endeavor.
Fast forward five months: The race quickly approached. We were as prepared as we could be to run and had a great support team in place. The day before the race we scoped out the aid station where Liz, Alex and I would set up to see Mike at four different points throughout the race. It was also where I would join him for the last 15 miles.
Bad idea.
The terrain was more difficult than what we trained on and I began to get a little nervous about the day to come. Mike and I both must have been thinking similar thoughts because neither one of us was able to sleep the night before. I think the max amount of sleep either one of us got was two hours.
And they’re off.
The race began with a beautiful light show as the head-lamped runners trotted along in the dark. It looked like pixies or fireflies had taken over the park. When the pixies left, Liz, Alex and I headed to our support destination. Settled and cold, we waited in the dark for the runners to appear. An hour or so after sunrise, Mike appeared (after many false alarms of other runners wearing red shirts – go figure). He looked OK – tired, but OK.
After a quick refuel he started loop one – the first of three on tortuous terrain. Before Mike returned, a couple of runners appeared with bloody/bruised legs from falling – one even had his face scraped up from a fall. A helicopter also appeared to be landing in aid of someone. I looked closely at the EMT guys in front of us to see if any news was coming through the radio – nothing, whew.
Mike appeared after loop one still looking OK – tired and a little shocked at how hard the terrain really was – and without visible scars. He fueled up again and was off. The next two loops were about the same, except Mike had then befriended a Marine who was running with him. I turned to Alex at one point and noted how a Marine is probably the best person you can befriend on a run like this – they don’t leave people behind.
My turn.
After Mike left for loop three, I began to anticipate and prepare for my entry into this race. I was nervous, but optimistic about being able to get him, and now Chris (the Marine) through the remainder of the race. They returned from loop three, Mike changed shoes, fueled up some more and we were off.
We got no more than 100 feet and I tripped on a rock and fell – great job pacer! I jumped up wiped off my scratches and moved along. A mile later – boom – another fall – bad pacer! This one knocked me a bit and got a little dizzy getting up. No worries, I was determined to get these guys across the finish line.
As we continued, we picked up another runner, Michelle, who was also struggling to finish. I was feeling pretty fresh and so tried my best to get the morale of the group up. The arduous terrain and the 50-milers’understanding of what to come next proved to be a challenge. They knew the course from the morning and were anxiously anticipating the next mountain they had to climb and river they had to run over – literally, we were walking over tree branches to cross streams.
At one point in the first 6.2 miles of my pacing, I was at the head of the pack and looked back to Mike, who was struggling behind. He was hurting – he was having a really hard time and I could see it. I knew there was no turning back, so I trekked forward in the hopes we were nearing the first aid station of my portion of the race. After a challenging hike up a hill, I looked back again.
My heart sank.
Mike looked sick – his face was gaunt and tired – he had dark circles under his eyes, which looked out completely of it. I slowed down and went beside him to keep pace with him. The truth was there wasn’t anything I could do for him at that point, but I just wanted to stay with him. Thankfully the aid station was close by.
We refueled and Mike told the Michelle and Chris to go ahead. They had both drank some Mountain Dew and so were much peppier than Mike. Chris, of course, said no – “Mike and I are crossing that finish line together.” I was happy we met the Marine – it was exactly what Mike needed.
We trekked on with our partners in crime ahead of us, but always stopping to allow us time to catch up. Mike was totally beat at this point, but I knew he would finish. There were a few more hills to climb and then an aid station. Again the doubt of the 50-milers set in. “Focus on the aid station,” I said. “We have two hills, a valley and then the aid station.”
It worked.
We got to the next aid station and were 5.6 miles away from the finish. There was no way we weren’t going to make it on time. The excitement got the better of us and we completed the next three miles in less than 30 minutes. (Trust me that’s fast for people who ran 45 miles before that point.) Only 1.6 miles to go and we were home free. We power-walked much of the remaining distance. At about 100 yards, we started to run. I took a step back and let the three 50-milers cross the finish line at the same time.
Success.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Pressure Cooker
My mother always told me I put more pressure on myself than she ever did (debatable). Perhaps that’s why I wound up married to someone who likes to put pressure on himself and those around him.
Take for example, Mike’s decision to train and run a 50-mile trail race in September. That’s a huge challenge for anyone and even more so for someone recovering from a bacterial infection in his neck bone. A few weeks ago, though, this race turned into me pacing for the last 10 miles. OK, I can do that.
Not so fast.
Turns out I really need to pace him for the last 15 miles. When I ended the first (and only) half marathon I’ve ever run, I went to Mike and said, “I didn’t like that at all.” So it makes total sense that he would push me to go even further, right?
In fairness, I do have an interest in running another half – specifically so I can feel “good” at the end. (I realize this is naïve of me, but a girl can dream.) But 15 miles is so far.
The truth is, though, I do think I’m up for a new challenge – so here goes!
Take for example, Mike’s decision to train and run a 50-mile trail race in September. That’s a huge challenge for anyone and even more so for someone recovering from a bacterial infection in his neck bone. A few weeks ago, though, this race turned into me pacing for the last 10 miles. OK, I can do that.
Not so fast.
Turns out I really need to pace him for the last 15 miles. When I ended the first (and only) half marathon I’ve ever run, I went to Mike and said, “I didn’t like that at all.” So it makes total sense that he would push me to go even further, right?
In fairness, I do have an interest in running another half – specifically so I can feel “good” at the end. (I realize this is naïve of me, but a girl can dream.) But 15 miles is so far.
The truth is, though, I do think I’m up for a new challenge – so here goes!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My 100 Days
I am probably more psyched than most about President Obama -- it still gives me chills. But all this fuss about the first 100 days is kind of annoying. No one cared what Bush I, Clinton or Bush II did in their 100 days. Enough already.
Since people are focused on 100-day segments, I figure I better take the next 100 days to do something great. (My first 100 days of the Obama presidency were mostly filled with Mike's sickness and other stress. So I'm taking over the next 100.)
It started today -- slowly. I took a late-morning run on the trail and felt great. I'm committed to running at least three days a week, preferably four, and continuing with the TV yoga. (I may join a yoga studio in town, but we'll see.) Mike and I also plan join the local Y so we can start swimming again (and use those Total Immersion training tips we learned).
As for food, I'm already a vegetarian, so there's only so much I can take out of my diet. I will, however, continue on my goal of removing high fructose corn syrup from the food I eat and limit the regular corn syrup. Chemicals in food freak me out, but I do enjoy Diet Coke. So far, I've been good at keeping this out of my diet, but I've caved a few times. (Nothing cures a hangover like a tall glass of water and cold Diet Coke.) I'll also be more aware of the other foods that may contain chemicals. Mike and I have made the switch to dried legumes to reduce the salt from the cans. This is all part of trying to remove as many packaged foods from our diets as we can.
I'll be chronicling this adventure on this blog, though I doubt I will be able to update daily. (I'll try.) This is not a day-by-day endeavor, rather it's an ongoing tale of my 100 days. Enjoy!
Saturday, April 25, 2009
It's OK to Say Hello!
As I promised myself, I woke up this morning and took a short run. Saturday mornings are great for runs on the trail that starts in front of our house and meanders down to the George Washington Bridge.
After Mike's dramatic story about finding a half-eaten carcass on the trail yesterday, I was hesitant, yet intrigued. I headed out on the trail preparing to see a disgustingly rotted deer carcass. Thankfully, though, the bones had been cleaned (by other animals, I guess) and dried in yesterday afternoon's sun. Still creepy, though.
On way back, I encountered a few other runners and walkers. I tend to be a good mood when I run, so I love to share cheer with all who pass. Most at least offer a smile, but today was different. I encountered a man and woman running together (well she was trying to catch up), who couldn't even crack their lips to my cheerful "good morning," WTF? Is it really that hard? Come on people -- exercising is supposed to be fun and make you feel good. Would it hurt to crack a smile or nod? I expect cyclist to now say hello (more on that later), but other runners and walkers are supposed to be different. It's Saturday, it's going to be 80 degrees, what could be so bad? (end of rant)
So next time you're running and someone says hello, remember to at least crack a smile. Enjoy today!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Taking Back the Morning
To be fair on myself, I have to admit that it’s been a hard year. My hub’s sickness really took its toll on me – physically and emotionally. My entire schedule was messed up for four months.
But the excuses have to end. It’s time for me to get back into my training – for life. I did indeed accomplish my goal of running a half marathon (I’ll write more on that later). At the end of which, I said, “I didn’t like that.” So my new goal is to run one that doesn’t hurt quite as much. Perhaps the weather can be above 26 at the start and the water station at mile 10 won’t be filled with ice – more importantly, though, I will have trained right.
I was reminded of this by a New York Times article today that focuses on the importance of training to succeed.
And in doing so, I will try to keep this blog as updated as possible on my progress. That said; blogging can’t get in the way of training.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Dorky Commuter
It’s T-minus-six days until the race and my nerves are starting to kick in. Not to mention my right knee, which has never been a problem, feels weird.
I expect my left knee to hurt. (We have a history together – falling on ice, falling on concrete, cheerleading, surgery, etc.) But when a totally different knee hurts, I get a little freaked.
This weekend I took the pain to mean I needed to rest – did a short 3 miles on Sunday, but nothing else. And I’ve now turned into the ultimate dorky commuter with my running shoes on. But, hey – I can’t chance being hurt on Sunday.
I expect my left knee to hurt. (We have a history together – falling on ice, falling on concrete, cheerleading, surgery, etc.) But when a totally different knee hurts, I get a little freaked.
This weekend I took the pain to mean I needed to rest – did a short 3 miles on Sunday, but nothing else. And I’ve now turned into the ultimate dorky commuter with my running shoes on. But, hey – I can’t chance being hurt on Sunday.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Runner's High
With less than four weeks left to go, I’m feeling more confident about the race. This weekend was my first-ever 10-miler. Yes, it hurt, but not as bad I thought it would and not for very long. After an afternoon nap, my leg pains were pretty much gone. (… if only the nasty headache I had would have gone away, too.)
One of the greatest things about this endeavor is that I reintroduced myself to the runner’s high. It’s something that happens at different points for people, but it’s one of the most amazing feelings in the world. Remember when you were young and running around without a care in the world. You know, when you thought you were invincible and the only thing stopping you from getting to the top of the tree was fear of the trouble you would get in from the adults, not fear of falling.
That’s what it’s like for me. My first two or three miles are spent psyching myself into my runs. (Because I run in the mornings, there is a huge mental wall in the way at times, but I chug on.) At around mile three and four, I feel good. Wow, I’m running. Me, the girl who had the doctor write a permanent note for gym class so she would NEVER have to run; and I’m pretty good. Mile five is cake (and I often dream of the cake I can eat since I did run!). From there it's bliss… I just get this huge boost of energy like I can do anything… climb the highest tree, jump from the sky or, even run a marathon (crazy).
Don’t worry; I don’t think there is a marathon in my future, because runner’s high can’t fix my knee, but it is truly one of the greatest feelings. If you’re not into running, swim a mile or bike about 15 miles – it happens then, too. Pushing your body to its limits feels awesome – I highly recommend it!
One of the greatest things about this endeavor is that I reintroduced myself to the runner’s high. It’s something that happens at different points for people, but it’s one of the most amazing feelings in the world. Remember when you were young and running around without a care in the world. You know, when you thought you were invincible and the only thing stopping you from getting to the top of the tree was fear of the trouble you would get in from the adults, not fear of falling.
That’s what it’s like for me. My first two or three miles are spent psyching myself into my runs. (Because I run in the mornings, there is a huge mental wall in the way at times, but I chug on.) At around mile three and four, I feel good. Wow, I’m running. Me, the girl who had the doctor write a permanent note for gym class so she would NEVER have to run; and I’m pretty good. Mile five is cake (and I often dream of the cake I can eat since I did run!). From there it's bliss… I just get this huge boost of energy like I can do anything… climb the highest tree, jump from the sky or, even run a marathon (crazy).
Don’t worry; I don’t think there is a marathon in my future, because runner’s high can’t fix my knee, but it is truly one of the greatest feelings. If you’re not into running, swim a mile or bike about 15 miles – it happens then, too. Pushing your body to its limits feels awesome – I highly recommend it!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Feeling Invincible
One of the greatest things about running for me is feeling like nothing can stop you. It had been a long time since I felt that amazing feeling--like I could run forever. Yesterday, it came back.
I missed my morning run yesterday, but came home early enough to take a run through on the trail in front of my house.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Baby Girl?
When did it become a turn on or even attractive to use the term "baby girl" when referring to a woman? (And what does this have to do with running, right?)
At the start of my daily runs, I head north on my street and happen through my "town," which has a pretty lively nightlife that often extends into the early hours of my run, on Fridays and Saturdays mostly. But today -- Thursday -- I run past a group of three guys (early 20s, I guess) who call out to me "Hey, baby girl!" "Hey, baby girl." (I don't reply and they mumble something.) Sadly this is not the first time someone has referred to me as "baby girl," but I had a good three miles to over-contemplate the encounter and I'm left baffled. What did these guys hope to accomplish? Was I going to stop my training to say, "Hey, big boys how's that corner treatin' you?" And then what?
Whatever the desired outcome, I'm more concerned that we -- women -- have somehow made it OK to be referred to as one might a child. Why is it that a man is a "big daddy" (don't get me started on that one), but women are "baby girls?" I guess it's all part of the gross incest theme of sexual relations in our society. When did that happen? Perhaps I should do more research. I'd much prefer a man (or woman) call me "Michelle" with a loving glance than any of these weird terms of endearment.
(end of rant)
And the run? I ran today because by the time I got home last night my head was hurting and I didn't feel like running. (I did a yoga DVD instead.) This mornings run was OK. It started off slow, but got better as I hit mile one. My knee was a little sore after, but nothing a little ice didn't help.
At the start of my daily runs, I head north on my street and happen through my "town," which has a pretty lively nightlife that often extends into the early hours of my run, on Fridays and Saturdays mostly. But today -- Thursday -- I run past a group of three guys (early 20s, I guess) who call out to me "Hey, baby girl!" "Hey, baby girl." (I don't reply and they mumble something.) Sadly this is not the first time someone has referred to me as "baby girl," but I had a good three miles to over-contemplate the encounter and I'm left baffled. What did these guys hope to accomplish? Was I going to stop my training to say, "Hey, big boys how's that corner treatin' you?" And then what?
Whatever the desired outcome, I'm more concerned that we -- women -- have somehow made it OK to be referred to as one might a child. Why is it that a man is a "big daddy" (don't get me started on that one), but women are "baby girls?" I guess it's all part of the gross incest theme of sexual relations in our society. When did that happen? Perhaps I should do more research. I'd much prefer a man (or woman) call me "Michelle" with a loving glance than any of these weird terms of endearment.
(end of rant)
And the run? I ran today because by the time I got home last night my head was hurting and I didn't feel like running. (I did a yoga DVD instead.) This mornings run was OK. It started off slow, but got better as I hit mile one. My knee was a little sore after, but nothing a little ice didn't help.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Getting Back Up
So you could say I've fallen off the training a bit this past month. And the truth is I have no one to blame but myself. But I've promised myself that I will run four times this week and yoga twice. I'm started well with a great three mile run yesterday. I missed yoga this morning, but will make it up tomorrow evening.
My inspiration is a book titled: Anti Cancer: A New Way of Life, by David Servan-Schreiber. Mike and I were lucky enough go to the official launch party and hear from David himself about the book and his personal struggles with cancer. He takes the "you are what you eat" adage a few steps further -- "you are what you eat, drink and do and who you hang out with." I can't wait to read the book.
The truth is if we all work to be better versions of ourselves, the world would be a much better place. As simple as that seems, that's my goal. Each day I'm going to try to improve on the fabulousness that is me. Sounds like a plan to me!
My inspiration is a book titled: Anti Cancer: A New Way of Life, by David Servan-Schreiber. Mike and I were lucky enough go to the official launch party and hear from David himself about the book and his personal struggles with cancer. He takes the "you are what you eat" adage a few steps further -- "you are what you eat, drink and do and who you hang out with." I can't wait to read the book.
The truth is if we all work to be better versions of ourselves, the world would be a much better place. As simple as that seems, that's my goal. Each day I'm going to try to improve on the fabulousness that is me. Sounds like a plan to me!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Bad Cold
After a great slow and steady run on Saturday, as planned, I went away to Greenport for the weekend and got sick. I'm not sure if it was getting caught in the rain or the freezing hotel room, with the air conditioner controlled by my brother. Either way, I've been down and out for three full days.
With four months to go, I'm getting nervous. I really need to get back on track. Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.
With four months to go, I'm getting nervous. I really need to get back on track. Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Rehab...Already
OK. So my little injury took me down for a few days--literally. Walking was tough and the fact that my new job requires me to dress like a grownup didn't help. (Wearing shoes that are usually referred to as pumps is not easy when your entire left legs hurts. Good news is I used this as an excuse to buy new shoes!)
So it was time to rehab. I used the bike trainer in our basement to help build up my muscles yesterday evening, some icy hot before bed (ah the smell of old people!) and hopped on the bike again this morning. So while I didn't run after Tuesday's injury, I should be able to get back on track tomorrow. That would make three days of running--which is not too bad.
Next week: No excuses. Time to get up to five days of running with yoga in between.
So it was time to rehab. I used the bike trainer in our basement to help build up my muscles yesterday evening, some icy hot before bed (ah the smell of old people!) and hopped on the bike again this morning. So while I didn't run after Tuesday's injury, I should be able to get back on track tomorrow. That would make three days of running--which is not too bad.
Next week: No excuses. Time to get up to five days of running with yoga in between.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
And So it Begins
Word is out--I'm planning to run a half marathon. (I even told my mom!) And, like many people on the Web, I plan to chronicle my training here. The truth is that I need to be held accountable. By musing about my running excursions here, I have even more of reason to stay on track.
Since this will act as a running log of sorts, you can expect to hear some of the details of my runs—distance, speed, muscle strains, etc. But you'll also get a peek into my head. I do my best thinking on my runs and I'll share some of that with you.
Let's get started:
This week I started my official training. I need to get body used to running five days a week, then build up to running around eight or nine miles before really training. Day two (today) for this week was OK. I pulled something in my groin (and yes, I did check to make sure it's a groin for a girl, too), so I had to cut my run a little short. I guess I was overexcited for my breakfast meeting in the corporate dining room and took off faster than I should have. (Not that it wasn't warranted, I mean the corporate dining room has people serving you and there was even a menu! I was totally thinking bagels and muffins. No sir, I got an omelet made with Gruyere cheese—fancy! )
Tonight it's stretching for me.
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