An exciting evening

My kids were in bed at 8PM and after approximately four years, I decided it was time to tackle this:

Sadly, this is not a staged "before" photo.  

I realize that I am opening myself up for humiliation here, but yes, this is seriously what the cabinet looked like when I opened it.   After countless times of cleaning and organizing it after the kids completely mangled it on a somewhat daily basis, at some point I resigned to the fact that it would remain mangled until the kids were a little older.  That day might just have come.  Maybe.



The "after" shot.  Don't hate. 

 Seriously.  Don't be jealous.  I am taking a pretty big chance here.  The likelihood is that it will look like the "before" photo within days. 

But maybe not.

The Race Weekend, Part 2: The Race

Sleeping in my own bed may have been nice the night before the race, but at the very least, staying in a hotel forced me to plan for the morning well beforehand.  The alarm went off.  I turned on the coffee pot.  I brushed my teeth and got dressed in my layers that were all ready to go (with my bib already pinned).  I ate half of a chocolate muffin, drank my coffee, checked my ipod and laced up my shoes (with the chip already tied on).  As the kids and my parents still slept peacefully next door, John and I headed out the door at 5:45 AM.

With the race being held so close to the hotel, it was no time at all before I was getting out of the car and making my way down the dark path lit by orange glow sticks toward the sound of music being played near the starting line.  And it was no time at all before the full body shivers began, partly because of the cold air and partly because of nerves.  I had to be there by 6, but my race didn't start until 7:30, after the full marathon and 5K had already begun, leaving me plenty of time to stand in the line for the bathrooms.  Twice.  (Again, nerves.)  Fortunately, my neighbor was there, too, and we got to talk and laugh the time away.  Soon enough, I was lining up at the start.

The gun went off, I started my watch, and I concentrated on my pace, trying hard to heed the advice from so many:  Don't start too fast.  I felt great, but I knew I had to hold back.  There were plenty of miles to go.  When I got to the first water station, I couldn't believe how fast the first mile went.  I looked at my watch: 7:26.  And people were passing me left and right. 

When I began training for this race in April, my training plan perplexed me.  In the plan were written tempo runs, runs that included certain distances at marathon pace, hill sprints, and more.  I had no idea how to figure out what my marathon pace was without ever having run one.  I had no idea at what pace to run for tempo runs when I hadn't run a race since before being injured.  Unlike my high school sprinting days, when I ran as fast as I possibly could for 100 or 200 meters, I realized that this distance running was going to require some thinking and control.  And if it was going to work, I had to have a goal.  I adjusted my goal throughout the training, as I realized of what I was capable.  And not capable.  And when I got to the race day, I had in my head goals in three tiers: what I would be happy with, what I hoped for (which was what I thought I might be able to do on a great day), and what I would love to achieve.  On the pace band that I wore on my wrist was a little better than what I hoped for: 1:45, which was about an 8:01 pace.

So as people passed me through the first couple of miles, I just focused on my music and the sights, and tried to keep my pace.  The second mile came at right around 16:15.  I had slowed a bit too much, so I picked it up and found some people to keep an eye on.  I took my long sleeved shirt off at mile 3.  The sun was just above the horizon over the water to my right.  I tried to take mental pictures as it shone through the trees on such a crisp, beautiful morning.  I looked straight up and couldn't help but to smile.  As I write this almost a week later, the picture is still there.

The miles clipped by.  Water/sports drinks at every mile helped me keep track of time.  As always, I sang along to my tunes, a great play list I had put together specifically for this race.  I tried to keep my voice quiet, though, and did a lot of lip syncing, especially around people who didn't also have earphones.  But, honestly, I was so excited to be running that it was hard to not dance just a little here and there, too.

Near mile 8, I was right on pace.  I had been running near a particular couple for much of the race, and suddenly I heard the guy say "time to go."  At first, I wasn't sure whether he fell back, or if she took off, or if both happened.  But suddenly, I was running ahead of him and she was pulling away from me.  I got out of the trance I had been in for the previous few miles, and refocused.

It was hard, having never before run 13.1 miles, to know how much to have in reserve as mile 10 came along.  I increased my pace ever so slightly.  At mile 11, I finally figured out how to drink from a dixie cup while running without most of it splashing on me or making me nearly choke or drown.  At mile 12, when I still felt great, I knew that it was time to go.  I hit my power song on the ipod, and pushed, with adrenaline rushing through me.  I was nearly there.

The power song ended, one more song came on, and I kept singing...this time perhaps too loud.  The guy that I passed on the left said, "I hate you right now."  I smiled. 

The song ended.  The finish line was almost in sight.  And through my headphones suddenly blared "Hey Diddle, Diddle."  WHAT?!!  Seriously.  I have no idea why, and I can't figure out how.  The song was definitely not on my play list.  But, though pushing the power song again (because I certainly couldn't finish the race with "Hey Diddle, Diddle"), I couldn't help but to run a little faster having been reminded of my kids and how so much I do, including running this race, has so much to do with them.

I approached the finish line, and tried to look for my family.  I couldn't see them, but I could hear them.  "Go Joyce!"  I heard my mom say.  I raised my arms, and seconds later crossed the line, finishing with a time that I loved to achieve.

Almost a week later, I still can't shake the feeling of pride from running this race, and I am not trying to.  I know a lot of people that have run many half marathons, and perhaps some may think I am being a little too dramatic or am making a bigger deal of this than I should, but I am hoping that they know exactly how I feel and can totally relate.  There is just something about setting a goal, working hard for months in preparation, and then achieving or even surpassing that goal.  I enjoyed every moment of this race, wouldn't change a thing, and would totally do it again.

__________________________________________________
Here are the results of my first half marathon, September 18, 2011

Time: 1:43:54
Pace: 7:56/mile
Division Place: 4/72
Female Place: 17/440
Overall Place: 97/800

The Race Weekend, Part 1

Besides an awesome race (which I will write about in another post), this weekend was fantastic for many other reasons, including great family time and funny moments. It started out in a pretty stressful way, with me not having gotten all of the packing done Friday night (because I was exhausted and thought that sleeping would be a good idea) and then waking up Saturday with nearly no voice, feeling quite under the weather. Our scheduled departure time was 10AM; the following picture was taken a little after 11AM on the street in front of my house. (For the record, my house looks NOTHING like those across the street...ours is about 30 years older.)

You may notice in that picture that there are three motorcycles and four adults.  My parents made the trip with us on this gorgeous early fall weekend.  My mom, dad, and John all took their motorcycles, and I followed in the car with the kids, rocking out to Kids Place Live most of the way.

 

The fourth motorcycle is that of friends of my parent's.  They joined us for some of the ride.

 

We took our time getting to our destination, which would have taken about two hours had we gone the less scenic route.  We stopped for a great lunch, and then again at a Harley dealership. Harleys weren't the only thing they sold.

When we arrived at our "fake home" as Cortlan called it all weekend, we were slightly disappointed to find that we didn't have the adjoining rooms that we had asked for, but we did have rooms next to one another.  Regardless, the kids loved it. And of course, they gave us plenty to laugh about.  Like, when Cortlan was told to go to the bathroom in room A, but instead showed up in room B and John asked, "Why didn't you just go in the other room like I asked you to?"  Cortlan very seriously (but clearly not truthfully) said, "I don't know how to go to the bathroom over there."  To which Everly replied, "Wit your penis, Tort."  Um, yeah, Cort.  Duh.

After getting unpacked (and using the bathrooms), we went to get my race packet and were happy to see an awesome playground at the packet pick up area, which would also be the Start/Finish line area.

A small purchase from the running vendors later, and we went to check out the lake.

Perhaps the highlight for the kids, though, was pizza in the hotel room followed by their first indoor pool experience ever, where Cortlan swam for the first time without any flotation devices.

Can you tell he was proud after his first solo swim?

As the day came to a close, my thoughts went to the early wake up call I was going to be getting, and then immediately to the hotel experience that we had in June.  Fortunately, my parents stepped in and saved the day by offering to let the kids sleep in their room.  The story is that they finally were asleep at about 10:30.  I was dreaming sweet dreams by then.

And after a slightly rough night of sleep, the alarm went off at 5:10 AM...

A million thanks from a runner

I have officially run 506.5 miles (or so) since the first week of April, which is when I began training for my first half-marathon.  That race is this coming Sunday, and I have a mere 10 more miles to run until that big 13.1. 

I am so lucky to have many amazing friends that have encouraged and supported me through the training, by doing everything from writing my training program to providing me with playlists to commenting on Facebook to actually running with me.  I am sad though that, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, the friend with whom I signed up for the race isn't able to run it.  But I will just pretend she is there listening to me breathlessly sing to Ke$ha and Pitbull and Mumford and Sons as I make my way to the finish line, and all will be well.  To be honest, since she lives so far away from me, we weren't ever planning to actually, physically, train together.  And despite the fact that I was hoping to have her there at the race pushing me along, I think that what I needed most was the push to sign up for the race in the first place, and that she did.  And she has encouraged me and answered my annoying, novice questions all summer long.  So for all of that, I thank you, Coach A.  :)  I will miss you on Sunday.

I am also incredibly lucky to have a husband who has been totally willing to work around my somewhat crazy running schedule, especially since the beginning of the school year, when time became very scarce.  The bedtime juggling act combined with trying to get 6-8 mile runs in before it gets too dark has been challenging, but John has fully supported my efforts and goals, and has sometimes nearly pushed me out of the door as I lingered a little too long doing "one last thing" before I left.  I didn't even have to set my alarm to wake at ungodly hours to fit my 12 and 9 mile Saturday runs in the past two weekends.  Thanks, babe.  Love you.

Finally, I must thank my kids for accepting completely that Mommy runs, for respecting and expecting that it is a part of our lives, for encouraging me, for wanting to go to my races, for asking if they can run with me, and for constantly asking me if I am sweaty.  And for giving me the best hugs, even if I am.

Let the countdown begin.

To him, it sounded like pretend

It didn't happen quite the way I had anticipated. 
Scratch that.  Anticipating it hadn't even happened at all.

We were out and about in the neighborhood on Friday after dinner, and being a beautiful evening, most of the neighborhood kids were out.  Our neighbor had just bought a new motorcycle, and as it pulled into the neighborhood for the first time, everyone gravitated towards their driveway and congregated there...adults, big kids, little kids.  Cortlan enjoyed hanging with his buddy and the big kids; I kept my eyes on him and noticed the look of awe and admiration as he listened to their discussions, not all of which I could hear.  Everly sat on the lap of a neighborhood girl and giggled.  Pulling them away for showers and bedtime was difficult, even an hour after their usual bedtime.

As I was sitting on Cortlan's bed after reading him a short story, I asked him about hanging out with the big kids.  He liked it, he told me.  And then he said, "They told a story, and I don't know if I can tell you."

Immediately, I knew I had to find out what this story was. 

"Sure, you can, honey," I said, "You can tell me anything." 
"Even if I wasn't supposed to hear it?"
"Absolutely.  You can always talk to me."

A few more go-arounds, and the story came out. 

"They were talking about airplanes and that the airplanes hit big buildings and crashed and broke."

Wow.  My son learning about 9/11 at four years old from the neighborhood kids who had discussed it at school that day.  I waited for him to continue.

"Is that real?" he asked.
"Well, yes, honey," I said cautiously.  "That did happen...a long time before you were born.  Two airplanes with bad guys on them did crash into two buildings."
He looked at me, not sure whether to believe.  "Well, the pilots are supposed to be good guys!"
"You are right.  The pilots are good guys, but the bad guys on the plane took over and kicked the pilots out."
"Oh.  And they crashed on purpose?"

I could see that this was just incomprehensible to him, as it was to everyone that watched it happen that day ten years ago.

We continued the discussion for a few more minutes, and I turned the focus to all of the heroes that day.  We talked about the police and the firefighters and all of the "good guys" that helped to save so many lives.  With the conversation coming to a close, Cortlan's thoughts again turned to the bad guys, reavealing his concerns.  "Are those bad guys in jail?" 

The lines between imagination and the real world had blurred, and he needed to know that we are safe. And I did my best to reassure him.

I never anticipated that I would be having this conversation at this stage in the game.  And it wasn't until this conversation that I began to comprehend what it must have been like for those mothers and fathers of four-year-olds whose other parents fell victim to the horror of that day.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all who lost loved ones that tragic day ten years ago...and to their children and brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and friends.  My heart goes out to all of those innocent little boys and girls who realized that day, for the first time, that bad guys aren't just on TV. 

And my heartfelt thanks and admiration goes out to the brave men and women that showed us that real heroes aren't just on TV either.

In Rememberance.  9/11/01

A conversation with Everly

I sat her on the potty and then the conversation went something like this:

Everly:  I need paci.
Me:  Paci??
Everly:  No. Paci.
Me:  You do not need a paci.
Everly:  No. (thinking of another way to say it)  Cashie...
Me:  What are you talking about?
Everly:  I need cashie.
Me:  Ok.  What does that mean?
Everly:  Um, you shut da door...
Me:  OH!

Yep.  My two-and-a-half-year-old just asked if she could have some privacy.  Here we go.

I feel a change a comin'

I used to be super organized.  At least I thought I was...until I had kids.  Now, I just have completely random stuff everywhere.  In every corner.  On every surface.  Let me look around for just one moment...  Right now, there is triple antibiotic ointment on my computer desk in my kitchen.  There are a pair of jeans on my counter.  There are two of Everly's hair ties on the floor.  There is a stack of stuff ready to go downstairs.  There is a stack ready to be filed.  And then there are the papers that I just don't have a clue what to do with all scattered about. 

I am not quite sure what happened to me, but I can pretty much say when it happened...about four and a half years ago.  That is also right about the time when my desk at school went from immaculate to "there is a desk under there?"

But let me tell you what I did yesterday:  I finally made little days of the week placards and organized all of my handouts on my counter at school so that the kids can see what they missed in an instant and get what they need for themselves.  Gone is the stack of manila folders on my desk and sorting through for the papers that they missed.  Why didn't I do this years ago?  I have no clue.  But it is awesome.  And I can still see every part of my desk so far this year.

And let me tell you what I did an hour ago:  I made a grocery list on a google doc and organized it by aisle.  Yep...boldface titles like "dairy."  It felt so good.

Could it be that I am finally getting my organizational groove back? 
Well, I haven't replaced the batteries in my labeler yet, but...baby steps.  I am taking baby steps.